City of Slow Dreams: Part I
by Elliot Bowers
Summary: 2,000 years after Zalem...
1. Dream Chapter 1...

City of Slow Dreams: Chapter 1 (by Elliot Bowers) 

Small, beige-skinned Octavio almost jogged along just to keep his balance.Daddy strongly held his right hand, but Daddy was walking so _fast_.His father—five feet tall,very muscular, and often in rugged work clothes—was a giant to the 18-inch boy.There was an important reason for Daddy's walking so fast; Daddy said that a person had to walk fast to live in the city.As walking was the default way of transportation since the War, people had to walk—to walk _fast_, to get to work and to minimize the chance of trouble.Even on weekends, like today. 

Today, they were going to buy some maintenance supplies.That was part ofDaddy's job.Daddy did something connected to his job every day."Life in the city, Octavio.It's part of your hypno-education; you know that! 

Like all children of Brunswick, Octavio underwent the weekday sessions of hypno-education.In such a process, he and his classmates are strapped to hypno-education chairs for two hours:skin-absorbed sedatives going into their wrists via chair straps; raw information going into their heads by way of goggles and headphones.There is recess, and then they are educated for two hours more.From when he first learned to walk to when he was at least sixteen, Octavio was put through this process.And, there was the option to go through two more years of it to become a higher-paid worker—if one felt that one's sanity would hold for that long. 

But becoming sixteen, that was such a long time away.It may as well be forever away.Octavio was less than a year into the process and he already had competent language skills, but his young mind was still unformed and curious.Curious, like now—walking the sidewalk along with so many people. 

Walking with Daddy along the city streets let Octavio see _lots_ of things.He saw the storekeepers working and selling things.There were the metal-handed and dark-clothedGanglanders that stayed together in their small groups, to laugh at other people.Ganglanders, they always picked on people.And the very big e-cops were sometimes around.The e-cops were bigger than everybody, even bigger than _Daddy_. 

Octavio thought that this was going to be just another Saturday, another day with fast-walking Daddy.They were going to finish this walk along the city sidewalk, going to a city shop with complicated machine-tools and spare boards and big boxes.But today, oh today.Because of one thing curious Octavio saw, _today_ was different.With his big brown eyes, Octavio saw someone very special and very different. 

Because he was looking around, Octavio saw her first.Daddy's attention was still stiffly ahead.Octavio looked left and saw a very strange girl—slumped against a building.Her face was covered with a red rag with two holes in it for eyes.She haddark hair on her head.But she looked like she was made out of _metal_, like a doll.But dolls looked like _people_.That doll-girl was metal all over her body.And her hands and neck looked complicated.Maybe, inside, she was as complicated as those machines Daddy worked with sometimes. 

Because he stopped his walking, Octavio nearly tripped.He just _had_ to stare.Daddy looked down, and he stopped, too."Octavio, what did I tell you about walking outside?You have to walk fast.You don't want to be picked on by the Ganglander boys and girls, do you?" 

Octavio looked up at Daddy, then looked to point at the petite figure against the wall."But Daddy, there's a machine girl!I think she's broken!She's not moving, and she's got dust and dirt on her."He looked up at Daddy."Can't you fix her?" 

Daddy was now seriously looking at the little slumped "machine girl"—a metal-type cyborg, female.Metal type cyborgs were outdated as soon as the War ended.Nobody made metal replacement bodies anymore, hadn't for decades.He heard about her at local pubs, but didn't believe what he heard.Now he saw; now he believed. 

But it was like that that one's brain was dead.From the first time it appeared in the city, how much longer could its brain have lived?It was alive since the _War_.Likely, someone just put out the metal body there for pickup later and use for spare parts.And if they did use the body, they would have to open up the head to scoop out the rotten brain inside.Nasty, slimy and smelly work: corpses of metal-type cyborgs were occasionally found out on the plains, and each finding meant scooping out the braincase before selling the body parts to customers.Even then, parts of metal-type cyborgs sold for cheap:salvage of nearly outdated parts. 

Well, he wouldn't do it; his specialty was facilities maintenance.The metal corpse was someone else' business."Come along, Octavio.That's just spare parts.It's not a little girl.It's a machine that just looks like one.Nobody has metal-type replacement bodies anymore…" Then, Octavio and his father went away, his father's calm voice reminding and explaining to Octavio about metal-type cyborgs and synth-flesh types. 

Yet, the brain was still alive.The metal-bodied "little girl" still "lived" because her life support systems were still in almost perfect condition.Metal-cased food synthesizers in her chest still supplied protein, carbohydrates, water and everything else to her brain.Compact artificial lungs and a spinning plastisteel pump served as her respiratory system.All of this was encased in her body of armor.She did not have to work to live in this city; her body of armor provided for her brain. 

Outside of living, in fact, Alia did not want to do anything.Not really.With her memories in fogs of darkness, she remembered no real purpose to her living since coming to Brunswick.There was nothing at all to accomplish.The sun came up, and people walked along the sidewalks as occasional trucks and fancy black and white cars went by in the street.Watching people was something to do to pass the slow and tired days. 

There were times, like just then, when people stopped to gawk at her.From what she half-heard through her constant daze, the people almost never saw a metal-type cyborg before.They stopped their walking to make comments about her, primarily about her body.Most of that talk was of her being salvage, or just junk. 

And perhaps twice a month, someone would try to destroy her.As the four-foot metal-bodied girl lie against the side of a shop entrance, people wearing coveralls or tee shirts or even leather jackets tried to pick her up, mumbling about "parts."Alia would then jerk herself out of their grip and jog away, leaving the would-be salvagers stunned that a metal-type cyborg still lived. 

Now she thought of the little boy called Octavio.Because she listened to so many scraps of information, she knew about the lifestyles of these people.Little Octavio would likely complete his education, grow up and get married.Then he and his wife would have a child or two—before they both opted for synth-flesh "replacement" bodies and new jobs.Octavio may likely hold out on getting body replacement until he was forty or so, but he would become a synth-flesh cyborg at some point. 

Was Octavio's father a cyborg?With synth-flesh types, it was not quite possible to tell without staring.Staring can reveal a synth-flesh cyborg because as they look so perfect.Flawless skin because rubberoid skin has no blemishes.Perfect physiques, they have, because synthetic bodies have no fat—are all myogel "muscle" flesh over titanium bone.With slight, medium, or muscular builds, but never fat. 

Thoughts of "Octavio" then drifted off as her large dark eyes peered through the holes of the face-rag, looking at passers-by along the sidewalk before her.As sunlight brightened into afternoon, the crowds thickened a bit.People carried bags or pulled children along with them along with bags.Twice, she saw the seven-foot and detective-dressed e-cops walking among the crowds._Among_ the crowd, not _with_ the crowd, was right; e-cops were so tall that the dapper-dressed giants stood out and could not be _of_ the crowds. 

The streets themselves saw almost no vehicular traffic.There were occasional trucks and very less occasional cars.As the people of Brunswick primarily had jobs, factory production vat outlets, and shops all over the city, people really did not need cars.Trucks were for shipping goods that couldn't be transported by the vacuum-pipe modules that traveled beneath the streets.Personal cars expensive to maintain and were not mass-produced, anyway; some wealthy executives used them, though. 

But there was one other form of rare transportation, and she would see some of that presently.Alia first heard a hearty thrumming._Them_ again.The pedestrians along the sidewalks tensed a bit as the thrumming came closer, along the street.Those were the sounds of Ganglander "nuke bikes"—the one other form of transportation. 

Nuke bikes look exactly like the long, heavy motorcycles from the Old Days.In terms of workings, though, nuke bikes are very different.The engines are powerful repulsor-field electric engines.In place of the "gas tanks," nuke bikes have mcirofusion packs to supply energy for the engines and lights.And they have auto-repair systems.But only the questionably legal resources of Ganglanders can produce nuke bikes. 

Some say that the Ganglanders have found a still-functioning factory left over from the War and use that to make nuke bikes.Or, the Ganglanders just find the parts out in places on the plains and make their bikes.Another theory is that the Ganglanders simply own a secret factory in town and make them. 

However they procured or made them, Ganglanders had nuke bikes. Four such bikes down the street:four nuke bike-riding Ganglanders.Alia's eyes followed their loud progress.Two were male; two were obviously female.They all wore tight blue jeans, close-fitting tee shirts and open black leather jackets.And they all looked like young adults or old teenagers.But Ganglanders were synth-flesh cyborgs after all; they could be any age. 

They rode away, not at all noticing Alia against the red storefront brickwork she leaned against.She was also well-hidden by the passers-by, who tended to bunch and concentrate whenever Ganglanders rode by.She was safe so long as the Ganglanders stayed on their nuke bikes.But Ganglanders on foot were another issue. 

Ganglanders took too much interest in her whenever they did see her.They needed people to ridicule, and there was nothing more ridiculous than a metal-type cyborg (outdated!) with a dusty wig and a crusty rag worn on its metal skull-head.She was probably not worth much in parts.But her brain could be scooped, her body then sold to a machine shop for some cash. 

Then, while her separate parts were put into nanobot-sprinkled green vats for cleaning, the Ganglanders could then go to a café and buy some cups of damned good coffee with the cash.Not that they needed it; Ganglanders tended to pick up temp jobs in factory buildings and earn more than enough to live on.But salvaging a metal-type cyborg's body was something to do other than occasionally harassing the townies. 

Alia chuckled slightly to herself, chuckling so slightly that no one would notice.She thought, _Such palette of activities, the Ganglanders have.Activities include eating, harassment, breathing, harassment, conversation, harassment, nuke-bike riding and harassment.Now, come harass the last living metal-type cyborg!Come Ganglanders!Widen your activities.Add an iota of variation._She thought of the Ganglanders for the rest of the day, intermingling that with thoughts of the little boy Octavio and looks at the passers-by. This was something to do. 

When the crowd thinned out and the sun went down, Alia finally picked herself up from the curb.Her brain was tired from the prolonged, slow contemplation and staring of the daytime crowd.But she did not want to sleep on the sidewalk, out where she would be vulnerable.Very distant soldiering skills told her to sleep somewhere off the main paths. 

Alia left her place on the sidewalk, and she then stepped slowly into this darkening alley as the yellow sunlight went away from the city.She was careful by habit, not kicking any metal bits of trash or garbage cans.That would make for a loud clatter as her alloy foot connected.She did not want to disturb anyone as they sat down for their dinners inside their nearby and comfortable homes. 

No, Alia would just find a nice and relatively secure place in this alley to quietly spend the night.As the sunlight finally went away, to be replaced by harshly bright streetlights, she managed to find a place by some gray trash cans.Good, sleeping with her back to the wall and legs against her chest, the small metal-type cyborg would somewhat blend in somewhat with the cans. 

She sat against the junction between wall and ground and folded her legs to her hard chest.In time, her brain would come to consider it time to sleep.Then maybe she would dream nice dreams and be happy for a little while.She hoped she would remember the dream this time when she woke up—because remembered dreams were rare, precious and very nice things to hold to during her long days. 

_In fact, she did have a memorable dream.It was one of _those_ dreams again, in fact—one of those dreams of a time she forgot.Alia was with plenty of people that had bodies like her, but most all of them were so much taller than herself.And though their bodies were hidden by uniforms, she knew—with the sureness that dreams sometimes grant—that they were metal-type cyborgs, too.But they didn't care.She didn't care.Everyone was happy to do what they did now: soldiering._

_She went with her team out to a firing range.She fired various weapons here.Plenty of her comrades also learned to use weapons here.Firing weapons was repetitive, but there was serious purpose to doing so._

_Then the dream took her from the firing range and into a classroom with many long tables.The tables had naked metal bodies—without brains, of course.They were just for practice.This was where she learned about cybernetics and electromechanics.She already knew how to quick-repair most any damage to a body, but continued training always helped._

_This dream-place was set in a time just before she and her platoon had to leave for the War.They all knew that they had to leave some time—some time away.But the War was several states away.And her platoon's participation in the War would not be for months.The War was a drawn-out and sporadic affair, but she knew that she would not fight for some time. _

_After the firing range, the dream next took her to the recreation hall with her team.Everyone still in dappled green uniforms, but everyone was more laid back here.Now her and her team sat down at a circular brown table to an odd fantasy card game.She enjoyed just sitting with her friends and team members, sitting and with everyone have fun and just be together.And for fairness' sake, someone decided to let a gynoid deal the cards.It looked exactly like a human female—a Japanese teenager, in fact.Dressed in blouse and slacks, wearing a visor, the synthetic female rapidly dealt the fantasy cards out to everyone at this table._

_There was a slight feeling of phantom anticipation among the cyborgs, the vague and odd feeling of excitement slightly different from human anticipation.It was a sort of tingling warmth in just the brain, with next to no matching feeling in the body.Alia smiled at her compatriots as everyone else picked up their cards.Everyone's synthetic face was happy with the start of this game._

_The game was suddenly over just as it started; most everyone at her table—at every table—slumped over dead when their brains died.Alia's smile died on her artificial face.She looked around and saw that everyone slumped at the tables or fell to the floor, their dense alloy bodies in uniforms making heavy sounds._

_Alia bothered to look at the hand she had been dealt: the cards of the fantasy card game.She found that the hand she had been dealt by the gynoid had just three cards.One of them a bust portrait of the synthetic Japanese girl-woman herself, the one dealt the cards.The other was just an absolutely dark silhouette; with all the logic of a dream, the silhouette on this card was so dark that it seemed to swallow light.As for the third card, it had a familiar bust portrait—because it was a portrait of herself._

_There was a laughing in this room.One that echoed throughout and from the walls.That someone laughed louder as lightning and wind began to fill the recreation room.A string-thin streak of lightning smacked her, and …_

Alia awakened to the sound of loud and rude laughter—real laughter.Her left arm felt slightly jittery—the after-effect of an _actual_ burst of static electricity.A _real_ person was in this _real_ alley, laughing loudly.With the laughter was a flickering blue light that flashed on the alley's walls.Alia heard the tell-tale sounds of crackling electricity as well. 

The laughing stopped, but the flickering blue and the crackling sound did not.Someone was doing something very dangerous with electricity in this alley.That laughing man was doing things with lightning. 

Alia could vaguely see a six-foot man in the gloom, near the entrance.He spoke. "_Hey_, I sure as _heck_ know that there's a metal-type cyborg in this freakin' alley!My cape's static burst must have flickered against _something_, and I don't think that any of those metal trash cans was that _something_!Where are you, you metal-bodied sort of person?I know you're here.Come out, come out! Ollie Ollie Oxen-Free, or something like that!" 

Alia stayed where she was, pressed her hard back to the brick wall and curled her legs tighter against her solid chest.So, someone was using a sort of static-capacitor weapon against her, something with wide field-effect.But how?He _should_ have been affected by the weapon._Should_ have.Apparently, he wasn't.He was now using that very weapon to get her out of hiding by flaring out a wide burst of little lightning bolts. 

She could just avoid trouble by staying here.There was trouble with that, though.Too many hits from whatever he was using to fire lightning, and her body could go into temporary paralysis.Or her life support could be destabilized.When that happened, she would fall into unconsciousness—leaving her fully vulnerable to further attacks. 

"Come…on…_out_!Sheesh, didn't I just _say _that _someone_ _with a metal body_ is in this alley?Need I be more specific?Don't make me come after you!"A silent pause. 

"Nope, you _are_ making me come after you!Okay, it's on you, whatever happens!"The mystery man with the static-capacitor weapon began a careful walk down the alley and toward the two trash cans where Alia stay curled against the wall.Maybe, the flickering blue of the weapon wasn't enough lighting to see her? 

Alia was wrong; the man stopped four yards before the trash cans Alia hid by.She could hear the crackling static-capacitor weapon—even if she could not see what it looked like.Then, the crackling and the blue strobe stopped."Dang, out of buffered charge!You made me use up the primary charge, using the wide field-effect function of my cape!Now it's going to take the other half of the damned night to…"He saw a quick movement not four yards before him."_Whoa!_" 

Alia had snapped to her feet.She then did a powerful leap forward, in the direction of the shadowy man in the gloom.He was stunned and disadvantaged for seconds; Aliahad surprise on her side.So she punched for his gut, twice, with machine speed.She didweak punches in case he was real-bodied; she did not want to gut the man 

"Hah!" shouted the man as he brought his fists to places on his gut, exactly where Alia was going to punch him.The man somehow blocked both blows from her alloy fists by using his own.And his fists crackled with electricity. 

After delivering foiled punches, Alia did a small hop backward, putting distance between herself and her opponent.And she nearly fell over backward.Her last two punches had brought her fists into contact with that odd shadowy man's fists—which had extreme electrical charges.Her fists and upper body felt weakened from a sort of electrical overload. 

"Hey, no fair!" whined the man, rubbing his hands.There were sounds of crackling energy and little blue streaks as he did that."I only used my cape to detect you, now you're attacking _me_?_Quel merde!Donc, en guarde_!"He then brought up his own closed hands, fists, before he kicked out with his left foot. 

Alia, still feeling weakened, barely blocked the kick with upraised arms.But that was too much.Quickly awakened in the middle of sleep and with her body's mobility compromised by the electrical shocks, she unwillingly backpedaled from the force of the kick. 

The man did one powerful stride forward, lashing out with his right fist as he moved..._Clunk!_The blow hit Alia in her metal face, a blow not quite absorbed by her face-rag.The blow knocked her head back, also sent her bodily falling back. 

In falling, the back of her head tapped the concrete.Everything became dazed.She found it hard to move.Sprawled on her back, she had just enough energy to beg for a final favor. 

"If you wish to use my body for parts, please kill my brain first." 

The man spread his arms in the alley's gloom."Kill your brain?Yech!Why would I want to do that?I just wanted your assistance, is all!Wouldn't you want to cooperate with me instead of fighting with me?"No immediate answer."Come on, be a sport!Be my special friend.Puh-puh-puh…_Puh-lease_?Petty please?With oatmeal sprinkles and cherry on top?" 

Feeling more dazed, Alia simply conceded."I agree to it, then…Do allow rest.." Her head then rested against the pavement, and she closed her fleshless plastic eyelids.Then all faded into darkness as she felt unconsciousness closing over her mind.But just before she fell to full unconsciousness, she noted that the man that defeated her had used a fighting style very similar to her own… 

The man with the cape was The Cloaked Man, and he was a madman.No, madness was a relative term—relative to the current society.As society of now was relative to plenty of behaviors, there was no real and authentic gauge for declaring him insane.Then, The Cloaked Man was only a "madman" by self-admission.Some tried to call him The Caped Man, but he did not let them.His few friends called him by his proper and self-imposed title: The Cloaked Man.So there! 

So now, The Cloaked Man had finally found the little metal-bodied waif that people were talking about.And people were oh-so-very willing to talk more with good old cash to fill their pockets and inflame their wills.It cost about six hundred dollars and five weeks to get to this little metal-type cyborg. 

And what did she do?She attacked him!The little metal twerp tried to _kill_ him.So what if he became a touch anxious in getting at her.So what if he used a relatively harmless static burst to detect her?He took _weeks_ to find her, okay? 

Well, now to bring home the prize.The Cloaked Man very slowly stepped forward and deeper into the alley, then went to where the prize lie…Lie or lay?The Cloaked Man sure as heck knew that the verb _lie_ was used for humans—for subjects.Yet, _lay_ was a verb referring to _objects_.Was the little thing a subject or an object?The little metal-type cyborg could be an object or a subject, really.But then titles came into consideration and… 

_Whatever_.The Cloaked Man lifted the little unconscious metal-bodied twerp, his arms under her legs and back.He then positioned her as so her rested her head against his left shoulder, his left arm under her armored butt—like carrying a little kid.With her positioned so, The Cloaked Man stood.And he left the alley.He suspected that she would not appreciate being carried like an infant, but The Cloaked Man didn't care immediately.He was feeling mean; she shouldn't have attacked him in the first place.So there! 

He emerged from the darkened alley, the cape at his back gently wafting in the slight night winds as he walked with her.And out here on the street, there were pools of extremely bright light from the halogen-arc streetlamps.The Cloaked Man and his prize passed through these small batches of brightness. 

Doing that, The Cloaked Man became visible.He had wooly and dark hair, and reddish-tan skin.His face and body looked rugged and sharp: a square-jawed sort of face atop a body with a medium build.All synth-flesh, of course; he was a synth-fleshed person.Clothes were simple: slacks and a tee shirt.Black shoes to round off the outfit.There was also the red _cape_.It was interwoven with plenty of microcircuitry and types of polymers to retain immense static charges.It was beyond just a vaguely silly cape... 

And it took just minutes for The Cloaked Man to return to his place.His place, if not his home, was a second-floor apartment right here in the downtown area of Brunswick.Expensive by most counts, it cost little to him.He had plenty of money.He had to shift Alia to his right shoulder as so he could apport and remove his key from his left pocket.The door opened, he went inside and locked the door. Then, he carried her upstairs and into his apartment. 

Beyond the freshly painted metal door of the second-floor hallway, his apartment may as well not be inhabited at all.All the furniture was exactly as it was when he first moved in: sofa and armchair in the living room, three chairs around a round brown table in the kitchen (with refrigerator and oven), a bed and dresser in the bedroom.The bathroom had all the standard fixings of a bathroom; it was the bathroom where The Cloaked Man took Alia. 

He took her to the tub and turned on the water.He saw the metal-type cyborg stirslightly, but she remained unconscious as the tub filled.When there was about three inches of water in the white tub, The Cloaked Man removed Alia's crusty wig and face rag.Then he reached into his left pocket to remove another apported item: a long plastic container full of cleaning catalyst. 

He unscrewed the top and poured the slightly silvery liquid into the tub, then mixed it around.With that solution in the tub, he rinsed the bare machinery of Alia's neck and hands.He next rinsed the armor of the rest of her small body.To The Cloaked Man, it was like cleaning statuary. 

And after that cleaning, he removed her from the tub.He then carried her to the living room, where he laid her on the sofa.She would drip-dry there.So what if the cleaning catalyst could bleach some color out of the sofa's fabric?He didn't care.Then he went back to the bathroom to clean Alia's wig and face rag.And, _man_, were those things crusty! 

_Clunk!_Hours later, Alia had flopped to the hard floor, the fresh dark curls of her wig flopping about her face and shoulders.Her brain was still slightly hazed with the stuff of sleep, causing her loss of coordination.But aheavy hit of quasi-adrenaline in her brain made her extremely jumpy.She managed to scramble to her feet and put her articulate gray fists up. 

Someone unseen shouted, "_Look out!They're firing _goats _at us!_"Without thinking, Alia leapt forward and went flat against the floor.She heard the words _firing…at us_, and long-ago training took over.There, she lie for some seconds, her smooth slender gray limbs over her head, expecting the projectiles to come in. 

Firing _goats? _There was chuckling from somewhere."Heh heh heh…Got you with that one, didn't I?Since when did anyone use goats for artillery?"In a more condescending tone, "Sorry about that little prank.But it was _just_ _so easy to do!_" 

Alia stood again, this time with more care and deliberation.She was in a living room—probably somewhere in downtown.Then she looked in the direction of that foolish warning voice; it was coming from the open door that led to the apartment's kitchen.The voice then spoke again."Come on into the kitchen.We've got to talk business." 

That voice, it was the voice from last night.The voice of the attacker.Alia suddenly wanted to leave, to get away before she was hurt again.But she knew better; her attacker had a field-effect weapon, one in the form of a cape.If she tried to leave, he could just fire off a static burst, and her metal body would just draw the charge. 

Then she noticed her armorless machine-hands.They looked better now.No dust or bits of debris in the mechanism.Her neck also moved slightly better.Likely, buildup was removed from it.That man must have actually done some maintenance on her.Maybe his intentions were not absolutely evil. 

So she went into the smallish kitchen and sat opposite the cape-wearing man in tee shirt and slacks.He smiled and nodded a greeting."Ah, I knew you'd come around!And, hallelujah, here you are!Your metal body all polished and new, your head gear cleaned, a night-long nap on a real sofa, and you're all bright and perky for talking business." 

Alia tilted her head forward as she leaned toward the man, large dark eyes staring from out of her clean face rag.If she had a face, it would wear a look of new attentiveness. 

"The word _business_, as connoting dealing."Alia then leaned back."Dealing with the anonymous?I have a name; surely, you as a citizen must have one." 

He slapped his right hand to his chest."Goodness gracious, where _are_ my manners?"He again put the hand to the table."Heh, you can call me The Cloaked Man.Call me that because that's what I call myself.And that's what most everyone else calls me.That is, everyone that knows me.Now you'll know me.Now you'll have to call me that.And knowing is half the battle." 

_Rather wordy_, she thought.She said, "A title for a name.A sort of anonymity yet remains in portion.But time dispels that.Time may not, however, un-cloak the potential proposition deserving contemplation. So talk to deal and explain, to Alia," she said and asked. 

"Say what…?" asked The Cloaked Man.Then he smiled and wagged a finger at her."Ah, your freaky talk can't shake me!So you're named Alia, as I suspected.And you're willing to deal with me…Did I get the translation right?"Alia nodded."Okay, let's deal.I mean 'deal' because you'll have to deal with my deliberate roundabout talk and _deal _with my plans." 

Alia shrugged, small sounds of moving machine-joints."What else am I to do today?First, though I believe your speech holds redundancy,"said Alia, putting her solid fingers against the brown table."I suggest touches of efficiency and refinement.I really wish to dicker, but wordiness is slight deterrent to that."With that, she let silence hang in the air.There was a slight hint of smirk in that statement as well. 

"Okay, here's the deal," he began."Join with me in my venture for adventure, and I can guarantee you a better life!No more harassment from Ganglanders.No more lying on the street and sleeping in dark alleys!No more boring lying about and doing…whatever it is that you do all day.Join me, and we will leave the City of Brunswick for a sweeter and more excellent place.Wouldn't you like that?Huh, huh, huh?" 

Alia held up her right fist."Be more clearer than that!One point, 'A sweeter' place?"She extended her thumb to count that point."Another point, 'Leave the city?'"She the second finger of the count, her pointer."Two points of dealing.What is the cost to me, lacking in money?" 

"_Hey, are you listening?_" nearly shouted The Cloaked Man."Didn't I just explain the deal?Join me in going to a place far beyond this cutesy little city, and we both will be able to get better living.It's going to be a long and tough ride in getting to that place, and I need the help of a metal-type cyborg—because metal types were tough enough for the War.Of course, we would need the help of a gynoid too, but that's an issue for later."He then leaned back and crossed his forearms."Now, let me tell you about this place.Begging your pardon in advance for being so wordy and all, but this place I'm talking about is so great that wordiness has to be in order."Alia then listened. 

He spoke."As you know, or in case you don't know, the world went screwy after the War—the last War between synthetic-bodied people and the humans.Yeah, hundreds of years after it happened, and everyone _still_ talks about it.Why not, it pretty much destroyed plenty of the world.Thank goodness that not all of it was nuclear; we wouldn't be here to talk if it were.Not saying that the world now is any better for the War, just really different. 

"How different?I mean, the world became really jumbled and discombobulated.Instead of one big planet under a federation of multi-national elites,the world just fell into a state of city-states.Plenty of wild lands and empty places, but with coherent cities all in-between.Meanwhile, cities don't communicate with each other.The distances to vast.The roads essentially destroyed in too many places.The communications networks trashed. 

"With no real information about what is outside cities, legends and half-truths become 'news.'People really don't want to travel anymore; they believe that travelling out on the plains is dangerous.But people do listen to the travelers.And with simple electronic communication and gatherings at pubs and cafes, words about travel get around. 

"What is interesting is how just some people _are_ willing to leave the cities.Sometimes, people are able to reach other settlements across the land to get to other cities:They risk lives and fortune to cross the plains and rubble from the Old Days to get to where they've never been before.Indeed, they get or make themselves wheeled vehicles and leave this city, and sometimes come in.Almost never has a person come back."At this point, The Cloaked Man flashed a massive grin. 

He continued."And guess what?We're going to make ourselves go away!We're on a road trip!Not just to any place, but to one particular place.There, the Old Days still live on.In that city, people can take up regular jobs and live regular sorts of lives.Imagine that: regular and danger-free living, no random violence by Ganglanders.That and decent technology.Peace and friendship!And it's all stable! 

"This place has to be real, too.Of all the travelers that pass through those annoying pip procedures, the tales about that place pop up most consistently.There are other tales about cabin settlements in forests and weird stories about there still being space stations in the sky, stations to visit.But the stories about this surviving town from the Old Days are stories that seem the most reliable. 

"For _that_, my little friend, I am willing to cross over, to cross this freaking continent.I will journey over rubble, ruined roads, trees, rivers and whatever else to reach that legendary place.I even _dreamed_ about going there.And it was just _so groovy_ and laid back.Wouldn't you like to go there, Alia?" 

Alia slightly shook her head."You just repeat a tale.That place sounds exactly like a dream.Granted, travelers enter the city with vast stories of grand and far-away settlements.Tales of pre-War wonders that have survived for all of these centuries."Alia put her right pointer finger to her forehead."Probably, I'm somewhat dazed from centuries of auto-stasis; I actually bother to listen to your talk of wonderful pre-War places." 

The Cloaked Man chuckled."Heh heh heh…But you're _not_ ignoring this talk as crazy.You're willing to listen to my proposition because you want to leave this place, too.I _know_ you want to leave Brunswick for all sorts of reasons."He put his pointer finger on the table."What else are you going to do, kid?Laze about the city until your brain rots?It will eventually, you know.From what I know, most every other metal-type cyborg is dead by now, for whatever.The War they were made for killed many of them.And with the survivors, their brains just eventually give up and die. 

"Do you want your brain to literally rot as you just…_exist_ in this city?Then what?Someone's going to scoop out your rotten gray matter, then sell your body for cheap.I don't know, maybe they'll buy rush pills, a bowl of oatmeal, or a glass of Brennan's Special with the cash.Do you want to be someone's drug fix? 

"Tell you what: Join with me right now, and I'll even throw in a synth-flesh face replacement—_with _the correct phenotype to match.We'll just head over to the nearest little health clinic, I'll pay, and you get to look more normal!Now, adventure _and_ a restored appearance.How can you say no to this?Who else is going to come by and give you what I go to offer?" 

"Then, I do accept," said Alia."I accept this madcap travel to…wherever.It really must surpass prolonged and indefinite stay in Brunswick.An offer sure to never happen again."She tilted her head to the right."Also, does this dream place have a name?" 

The Cloaked Man raised a finger and began talking like a showman."The place?Why, the place is where _dreams_ live on.It is where people live calm and safe, safe, _safe_ lives of relative luxury!And, dear lady, the city had retained its dreamy quality despite the War.It is called…The City of Slow Dreams." 

_The City of Slow Dreams, _thought Alia.She echoed the name in her mind a few more times, because the name intrigued her as The Cloaked Man did.Indeed, she would go to this place.But…"I have an iota of other questioning," she asked of the madman across from her."That, as you yet failed to more fully disclose information," voiced Alia.The Cloaked Man shrugged, a _who-gives-a-freak _gesture."You mentioned something.A gynoid?Cloaked Man, of the hundreds of humans hereabouts and hundreds of synth-flesh cyborgs, how does a gynoid fit into your planning?" 

The Cloaked Man grinned."Because I said so!That's plenty reason enough, isn't it?Not a good enough answer?Okay, how's this:If we had a threesome going, we'd be less likely to all die out at once in the dangers of the great adventure to come.And, agynoid because people don't like to sell androids.It is much easier to get synthetic girl robots.Androids are very, very rare—probably impossible to get. "He paused."Another explanation is that I dreamt of being dealt a three-card hand.One of the cards was a gynoid, and… Well, I'm not going to tell you about what the other two cards had pictures of." 

All the same, Alia knew.She knew what was on those other two cards he mentioned.Her dream dealt her a similar hand.Gaining the gynoid, then, would be a completion of that dealt hand.And in that way, Alia joined The Cloaked Man in his journey to a place that may not exist at all: The City of Slow Dreams. 

Now a part of The Cloaked Man's effort, Alia began with an immense boon; she was going to have a new face and scalp.They left the apartment and into daylight, Alia's gray form looking very neat because of cleaning.Not even The Cloaked Man's now-haughty and odd strut could not annoy her enough to leave him.They had a deal. And Alia appreciated him not taking her by the hand to the clinic. 

In another place of downtown, they came to the red-brick general cyber-clinic. 

"Dr. J.D. Gallager, M.D." in residence.Were it not for the sign mounted on the side, it could be mistaken for one of many small shops here in Brunswick.Indeed, cyber meds did not quite have the prestige of doctors for people with flesh bodies; such doctors for cyborgs were somewhere between mechanics of old and physicians. 

Inside, it was a neat green-and-white place.Traditional cyber-clinic colors.The hard-tiled floor was white.Walls and waiting-area furniture here were light pastel green.And the waist-high solid receptionist's counter at the front was white.At least, it was waist-high to the six foot Cloaked Man.Alia could not see over it, and she resisted the whim to pull herself up and look over. 

"Hello Mr. Cloak, how may we help you today?Do you need body upgrades or an increased nanobot flow…" asked the red-haired and perfect-bodied receptionist, wearing a simple one-piece green summer dress. 

The Cloaked Man answered, "A-a-a-ctually, I'm not the one that's going to be helped today, Trissa.I've got a little customer here that needs a head job.I mean all the synth-flesh and hair.Since she's a recent immigrant, her phenotype isn't on file, I know…." 

Trissa smiled, her high-cheekboned and perfect-skinned face showing beautiful teeth."Don't worry on that, Mr. Cloak.Dr. Gallager can simply read the phenotype from brain stem DNA.And, where is this 'little customer?'"The Cloaked Man reached down and lifted Alia to be in view above the counter. 

The receptionist put a hand to her mouth in shock; that was _the_ metal-type.But, the receptionist's shock went away as soon as The Cloaked Man put Alia down and paid the flat fee for total head-flesh replacement:five hundred.Unlike many, he paid in cash.The Cloaked Man never had problems with producing cash from his left pocket. 

The receptionist put the cash in a drawer (exact change), then typed in the request to Dr. Gallager.Currently, he was probably at work on fine-tuning or even upgrading the equipment in the back rooms. 

Dr. Gallager, a five-foot thin man with brown hair, came out from a side door, into the reception area.He smiled when he saw the metal-type cyborg, hiding his shock at seeing a real metal-type standing and alive.Looking down at the four-foot metal-bodied girl, he said, "Well, I'm Dr. Gallager.I'll help you get your face again.And what's your name, hmm?" 

Alia sensed the condescending tone; Dr. Gallager probably could not avoid seeing her as a small child.It was just because of her height appearance.Metal-type bodies never "grow." 

"As for a name, it is presently Alia.My name remains of my remembered being, if anything significant.So long as you do not ask for anything else beyond my name, all is well…" 

"That is good enough then…"The doctor stopped himself from finishing off with _little girl._"Come follow me to the working room.We'll restore your pretty self yet."The doctor put a hand on Alia's cool and solid upper back and he walked her to the working room. 

The procedure would probably take an hour.In the meanwhile, The Cloaked Man would sit on one of the cushioned chairs of the waiting area.There, he would read some of the local publications.The City of Brunswick had no real broadcast media other than simple wall terminals for mailing text messages, so the print media was quite extensive. 

There were multiple print journals on the low table in this reception area—fifty-page things bound and printed on gray-white paper.One of them, _Bub City News_,was sometimes interesting.Maybe this edition was printed in one of those sometimes. 

It was somewhat one of those _sometimes_; this edition had interesting bits.Of course, there were the editor and reader opinions about the occasional trouble with Ganglanders.And, there was praise for the e-cops.But what caught some of The Cloaked Man's attention was the feature on there possibly being a sort of gladiator fighting ring in Brunswick._Damn straight_, thought The Cloaked Man, _this goofy little city needs some real excitement_. 

One of the other few items to get his attention was on more speculation as to where Ganglanders got their parts.This article, written by someone called Hubert, generally claimed that Ganglanders had their own secret shops for nuke bikes—shops underneath parts of the city.The writer of the article then ventured to say that the nuke bikes for those shops came from modified factories beneath the city._Sure, _thought The Cloaked Man, _and space aliens will come down while people turn into slimy monsters._

The Cloaked Man read the fifty-four page journal in fifty-three minutes.He was a fast reader.That was nothing surprising:Everyone in Brunswick was a rapid reader, because reading was one of the very few things of entertainment value in this city. 

So he put that edition of the _Bub City News_ on the low table, crossed his arms, then leaned back.And then he suddenly snapped forward, mouth opening.What—or who—he saw was really worth that. 

Alia had somehow quietly stepped into the reception area without being heard.At least, that _should_ have been Alia; there were no other metal-type cyborgs in all of Brunswick. 

With the synth-flesh and scalp of her head restored, Alia looked quite different and quite cute.Her large dark eyes were now set in a pert and very young face:round and smooth pale face with a high brow, a face also featuring a pert nose and broad cheeks—perhaps Nordic.Also Nordic was her polymer hair:straight ash blonde, cut to shoulder length.Her ears were a touch large, but that made her look more endearing. 

That cuteness was augmented with one other modification done by Dr. Gallager.He replaced her skeletal bare "feet" with sleek gray bootlets that went to her ankles.The bottoms of her armor bootlets were done in a friction-textured alloy that was both flexible and strong. 

Summarily, Alia looked like a cute kid—though a cute kid in form-fitting armor, complete with silverish footwear and armor-hands.The Cloaked Man stood up, and he managed to close his mouth, which spread into a smile."Alia?Sheesh, you're surprisingly… cute!Is that your real phenotype or what?" 

Dr. Gallager patted Alia on her pale-haired head."Indeed, Mr. Cloak, this _is_ Alia's face and hair as she had with her original body.I had to restore her a face proportional to her current body, of course, but this is actually her expressed phenotype—not ruling out any modification of her DNA at birth." 

"Whatever," said The Cloaked Man."She's just so darned cute!"He jogged over to Alia and he knelt."I want to hug you and smother your cute little face with kisses!You're a real doll!Come here, cutey!"He spread his arms and began to lean forward—when he was stopped by Alia's metal hand on his chest. 

"Your proximity and expressions are enough show of…appreciation.Exuberance only goes so far before it becomes annoyance."She then lowered her hand, and The Cloaked Man stood up. 

"Okay, thanks, Doc!" he said.His left had brushed his left pocket, then he extended that hand to the doctor."I have to thank you for the sweet job done!"In turn, Dr. Gallager put out his left hand, and… 

Dr. Gallager yelped and yanked back his now-clenched hand."Mr. Cloak, please!I didn't add static capacitor capabilities to your body's mobility systems to…"Then Dr. Gallager's face looked at what was in his clenched hand:it was a ten thousand-dollar bill—not a small amount to just toss out at whims.The Cloaked Man, indeed, had _plenty_ of cash. 

"Well now, that will have to be the goodbye I give you, Dr. Gallager!" said The Cloaked Man to the shocked (literally and emotionally) doctor."Come on, Alia!We've got some more starting business to do…" 

He and Alia then walked toward the door:a small metal-bodied waif with pale hair and restored face, accompanied by a six-foot, casually dressed madman with a cape at his back and odd abilities inside.When they closed the door behind them, there was a slight passing air current through the room. 


	2. Dream Chapter 2...

City of Slow Dreams: Chapter 2 (by Elliot Bowers) 

Van "woke up" this morning.In her mind, she put that in deliberate quotes.That was not the correct phrasing, since she never really slept.Never.Spending nights in the walk in closet—used for cleaning supplies—was not ever a way for anyone to sleep. 

There was no soreness, though.She was never sore.As for possible stains on her clothes, Van kept this little place clean, even the floor.Clean enough as so she would not be punished for sloppy work.She would be fine, at least physically. 

She stood—stood very slowly, still dressed in her short-skirted waitress uniform.She was five feet tall; average height for the people of Brunswick—be they synthetic-bodied or real-bodied.As for her beauty, her synthetic body was made to suit general tastes of today: slim, with smooth pale skin.Her jet-dark hair normally hung straight down her back after the day was over—a dark banner of beauty to augment her round and high-cheekboned face. Finalizing her looks were her dark eyes.Her dark eyes, they tended to give her an open and constantly startled look. Perhaps centuries ago, she would have been considered beautifully Eurasian. 

Now she was just considered something else—at least to Steve.Steve called her many things.And Steve used to do many things to her when he first bought her.Then perhaps, the startled look of her eyes was not just physical. 

Her morning hygiene ideally consisted of scrubbing her skin, then spraying her synth-cotton clothes and polymer hair with quick cleaning catalyst.There was no need to change clothes now; she washed them last night.No other clothes to change into anyway, regardless of how badly she wanted to change from this too short pleated skirt and form-fitting long-sleeved blouse, a hint of an apron over the blouse. 

Her synth-skin, somewhat more fine than the skin that went onto average synthetic bodies, was more prettier to look at but tended to accumulate dust—the reason for scrubbing her skin.She tried to scrub daily. 

Hopefully, Steve would let her finish washing her skin today before he came out angry.Steve thought that ownership of the café and ownership of Van meant that he had license to treat them both as he saw fit.Legally, that was actually correct.Though, Steve cared more about his café than he did about the one worker—the waitress—he had for it. 

Moving to the bathroom, she settled for just scrubbing her arms, hands and neck.As soon as she did, she rushed back to the cleaning supplies walk-in to get the mop and a spray bottle of general sanitization catalyst.Just fine spritzes of the bottle was all that it took to convert dirt and dust into part of the ceramic-and-polymer checkered floor. 

Van went to the main dining area: just four tables before a long curving counter for serving.She dexterously put her dark hair in a tied bun.If the sun were up, the large square windows against the front—the ones facing the street—would bring in much sunlight to add to the florescent light inside.It was gloomy now as the sun was not quite up yet.But her enhanced eyesight was enough to see by.She set to alternately spraying the floor and brushing with the broom. 

It became a rhythm of spraying and swiping with the mop.As her own myogel muscles never tired, she would not at all tire from this.Then, Van allotted a portion of her though processing capabilities to cleaning while setting aside free memory for contemplation of other things. 

She thought of other things, her "brain" working.The sun was just barely touching the edge of the horizon.Likely, Steve would be here soon.He was not being too bad a person nowadays; he did not punish her as much as he did last week.There was plenty of yelling, and his words were darker, but he was still generally kinder.Van wondered why. 

Maybe, Steve managed to buy better stock in Administrations?Administrations was the general name for the basic corporate body that ran this city, owned the largest production and utility facilities.Administrations even owned the e-cops, which was not saying much.But it took Administrations to supply Brunswick with basic production and facilities enough to operate. 

If Steve bought the right amount of stock, he would instantly become an executive.Then, he would get more money and hire someone to take over running of the café.Becoming an executive was a one-in-fifty thousand chance, but the chance was still there. 

Van slowed her cleaning as she neared the other end of the main dining area.And much of her thought processes still went to considering possibilities of Steve's nicer behavior—and possibilities to grow out of that behavior.If Steve left to become an executive somehow and someone _did_ take over, then maybe she would be better-treated? 

Van thought of better treatment.She would be allowed to do full maintenance every morning as needed in working here.Maybe a new uniform or two?Maybe, even some other outfits beside this one.Something with a lower skirt.Or what about tights?Something to cover her more.But those were wishes; she had to finish cleaning this floor. 

That done, she left the dining area and went to the back to exchange her current items:this time getting a different bottle of cleaning catalyst and a wash cloth.This one was for surfaces other than floors. 

Now to clean everything else.First came the four tables and the counter.With arms stronger than they looked, Van quickly and efficiently took the chairs down from the tables.That done, she sprayed the lighter cleaning catalyst onto tabletops and gave a once-over wipe to each.That took under a minute. 

The counter was next, one fronted by high stools for customers that wanted to eat quicker.With the same procedure, Van cleaned and sanitized the counter, spraying and wiping to absolutely remove dirt.This cleaning catalyst could also be used for the food-preparation surfaces of the kitchenette behind the counter.Van went behind the counter,set to cleaning those surfaces.Since there were such finer and more articulate things to clean than out in the dining area, she had to allot more of her thought processes to… 

_Slam!_That was the heavy back door._Steve_, thought Van.She then diverted most all of her thought processes to cleaning more of the food preparation area.This, though Steve's footsteps came down the narrow hall from the back area to this larger place. 

Steve came in, a hairy-armed and brown-haired man with a pasty face—a very large gut in a brown jacket and white pants.His jacket unzipped, it revealed a large and paunch-restraining white shirt beneath.His soft face had a hard look on it. 

"You know, Van, you were once the best money could buy," he began with his baritone voice."Is that in your long-term memory?When I bought you used, I was getting my money's worth then.That was about twenty-two or so years ago."A second of silence."Yeah, I'm free to talk that generally, saying _about _and _or so_, because my brain is _alive_.I'm human, so I can get away with being general.Your brain?Ha!It's a bunch of computer-works!No wonder you aren't done with morning cleaning.I think that's because computer brains are not as good a real human brains.Dumb robot-bitch…" 

Van suspected something very terrible, knew something terrible would come.She slowed her scrubbing, then turned to look at Steve.He had pulled a long rectangular gray kind of case from his right jacket pocket.He pointed that remote at Van and pressed one control stud on it. 

The effects were instant.Van became rigid, her hands suddenly going straight and dropping the cleaning items.Her dark eyes spasmed wider and became even larger, and her lips parted.Small hissing sounds came from the voice synthesizers in her plastic-ringed throat.She remained standing somehow, statue stiff. 

"Damned gynoid, that's what you earn for disrespecting a human.Working so damned _slow_.Don't forget that real people are better than fake people.And, especially, _never_ forget that I hate disappointment.I hate it." 

She could barely process the words through her pain.Her body felt heated, as if the filament-thin signal mobility circuitry of her body were melting.It culminated in the "pain" signals that filled her mind circuitry.It was a prolonged and personal Hell, every nanosecond.And as Van's processors sped up in response to the pain, the pain seemed longer. 

"Yeah, I think you'll remember now.That's enough punishment," said Steve.He removed his thumb from the control stud, and…_Thud_.Van finally went slack, collapsing to the hard floor with her pale arms and legs splayed.Deeper programming within her "mind" went through preliminary systems diagnostics as she lie there.Or lay there; Van was a gynoid, not human.A synth-flesh being with a body that looked human, but with a mind of crystals and computers.All that physically separated her from being classified as a person was her computer-brain. 

Because of that fact, that her brain and body both were synthetic, Steve could own her.He did own her.He could treat her however he saw fit.Even mis-treat her. 

He stared at Van as she finally recovered from the stupor brought about by overload.Recovered as if nothing at all happened.Her mobility systems had recalibrated.But in terms of software, the damage was done.Van wished that she could cry.Not now, though; Steve would just punish her yet more. 

It was noon, and warm out on the downtown streets.But Alia looked snugly dressed.She was clothed in a turtleneck, long slacks and warm gloves—was now being led by the hand.Dressed so in children's clothing, none of her body's metal was exposed: just her synth-fleshed head of pretty face and blonde hair.That made her look human.As for being led by the hand, this time it was by choice rather than by intimidation.It was part of the plan, going to the café—for taking the gynoid. 

The Cloaked Man told Alia that he once in the past, coincidentally, tried buying the gynoid from Steve, the owner of the café.But Steve refused to part with the gynoid, told him to get another.The Cloaked Man wanted _that_ gynoid, though.And if The Cloaked Man's assessment of Steve's character was accurate, then Steve will have forgotten about The Cloaked Man.All the same, disguise never hurt.With The Cloaked Man's cape folded up and into the back of his tee shirt, he looked like most any other customer with a cute little "daughter"—even if she did look a touch albino, hair and skin. 

They came to the big-windowed front of the café."Oh, shoot!How god-awful!How evil, terrible and downright darkened!"He took some steps closer to the café, staring up at the sign."What did I tell you?The name is _evil!_This has to be the worst name for a café." 

Alia stared up at the risk of exposing the machinery of her neck.On that, she brought up her free left hand to keep the turtleneck's sleevelike collar up and concealing."The sign is what it is.In function, it advertises by way of simplicity.By form, it serves its purpose," she said. 

"But it's just so dang _cliché!_" answered The Cloaked Man."There's so damned little originality in that sign that we'd have to hunt with tweezers to find said originality.Does the naming get any less creative than that?I mean, dang it to heck!"He sighed."Ah well.Let's go pretend to be human and eat, 'daughter.'" 

"With certainty, my 'father,'" said Alia in return.They then went in. 

Because of lunch break, there were plenty of humans around.There were still people with real bodies in Brunswick, and people with real bodies needed food.Middle-aged and young people all sat about eating donuts and sandwiches, drinking coffee.The long counter was fully occupied.But there were two of four tables free—both round formica tables away from the window.The 'father' and 'daughter' sat down. 

Steve, working behind the counter, shouted."Van!New customers!Do you need an A.I. module replacement or what?"Not that Steve would put up the two hundred dollars needed to replace Van's brain, but the passing threat was death—equivalent to saying, _I'll cut open your head and replace your mind._

Van, still in her close-fitting blouse and apron, with too-brief pleated skirt, then went from porting trays of food to getting menus.She then went over to the table with the new customers."Welcome to _Steve's Café_."She hesitated when the curly-haired man winced at _Steve's_.But she continued and handed the two menus."May I take your order?" 

Alia pursed her lips and tilted her head to the right as she carefully opened the laminated menu.The Cloaked Man mirrored her, even tilting his head to the side and opening the menu with the same care Alia did.But his voice was certainly un-Alia-like. 

"Yep, I'll have myself a pitcher of damned good coffee._Damned _good coffee.And bring lots and lots of donuts.I mean, about a dozen or so."He looked up from the menu."I really like donuts—and damned good coffee." 

Van recorded the order in her memory.She then bent slightly over and smiled.The little girl at the table looked very precious, if different.Whereas most everyone in Brunswick had dark or brown hair, that little one had snow-pale straight hair that went nearly to her back. 

The little one even sounded precious."I will take a glass of warm cow's milk, please.It adds to my well-being," she finished.Van was impressed with the girl's articulation.And she left to synthesize the orders from the area behind the counter: donuts synthesized in something that resembled a boxy microwave; coffee and milk from a low faucet connected to a specialized liquid foodstuffs synthesizer. 

In four minutes, Van returned with all the goods on a platter—a platter held with robotic precision.She brought the items to the table, then put them down before the two. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," said The Cloaked Man.He then reached into his left pocket.Then, out of that pocket, he pulled a fistful of various dollar bills.Some of those bills were fifty-spots. 

He handed that to the waitress."That ought to cover just this meal, and a tip along with it," he said.He then considered the waitress' facial expression again."Hey, what's wrong with my money?_Everyone_ loves it.And it can't be dirty with any possible grime of my own; my skin is rubberoid." 

"Sir, this is an unusually large tip!I…I'm sure Steve will appreciate it…Sir?"As Van said that, The Cloaked Man was already opening his square jaw to stuff an entire donut into it.Then, she saw how much "difficulty" he had in eating the donut. 

He took the pitcher of coffee up from the table, to drink straight from it.In fact, plenty of seconds passed as The Cloaked Man downed the entire liter-sized pitcher of coffee.When he put it down, the pitcher clunked hollowly. 

"Father, what passes?" asked Alia."You wear a pained expression, and you truly _consumed_ a pitcher of coffee—in entirety.Very unusual." 

"I'll tell you what, sweet-face: The donuts really suck!_Sucky_ suck!Not that you're supposed to know what that really means, but the donuts suck all the same."The Cloaked Man then looked up at the waitress.Then said, "These donuts suck harder than my wife!And my wife just got an upgraded body!"He spoke louder as so he was sure _everyone_ could hear."These donuts suck so hard that they ought to be given out to the prostitutes!The donuts _suck_, so they really _fuck_ customers by the mouth." 

"Hey, watch your language!" shouted Steve, now looking over the counter and at the table of The Cloaked Man."If not for you yourself, quiet down for your daughter's sake!Nobody wants to get hurt, right?" 

"Oh _ho_, what in tarnation is _that_ supposed to mean?Or do you _mean_ what you _say_? Do you mean to _be_ mean in what you say, which means being a meanie…?" voiced The Cloaked Man."Because if you _mean_ to be _mean_, then the _meaning_ of what I have to do becomes known.Know what I mean?" 

Steve shook his head."That's it!I've never been a bouncer before, but this ought to give me some experience with it."Steve then went out from behind the counter.His paunch and hands swaying, he came to the table and shoved Van out of the way."All right, buddy," said Steve."Let's go!You and me." 

Alia spoke next from the other side of the table, her round face serene."Go? Do we go, father?I began to appreciate the otherwise ill quality of this establishment's _ambiance_…Being here must surely ameliorate character."To wit, Alia looked around and she gently rubbed her squinted eyes with the back of her hand."Ah, my strength of discipline improves already." 

" 'Discipline?'Little smarmy bitch!I'll show you discipline," growled the already angry Steve.With that growl, he made a rush at Alia, his hammy hand up in a fist, but she just blurred away from the table.The big man was then stunned at the rapidity of the "girl's" movement.He then turned to The Cloaked Man. 

Who was now standing, his fists balled."Discipline," said The Cloaked Man.Then he wheeled his left elbow across Steve's surprisingly solid cheek—an elbow-strike.The blow removed Steve's head from his neck, sending a jet of fluids straight up from the neck stump. 

Not blood.The fluid was a translucent liquid—coolant and lubricant.The body fell over, but the head was dead; no more electrical power to the processors in the head.Apparently, "Steve" was a fully synthetic being—an android.He was done up to just look like a flesh-bodied human, with physical faults in evidence:portly gut, chubby face and blemishes.And legally, he must have been declared human as citizenship records are probably faulted.Whatever:Steve was not at all real. 

With the "owner" of _Steve's Café_ "dead," The Cloaked Man and Alia now had themselves free claim to the gynoid waitress.Someone to add to their party.They did so now.Alia gently held Van's right hand, and The Cloaked Man gently took the other.The synthetic girl looked left and right, seeing both of her sudden new friends smiling.She smiled in turn.Hand in metal hand and in synth-flesh hand, the three walked out of Steve's Café. 

Not seconds later, the customers simply had a day with the place.People leapt over counters and began snatching food.Several anxiously went to brutalize the cash-credit register.And people just generally went all about: pillaging the place as the headless robot lay (not lie!) broken on the floor.It was free-balling and chaotic customer behavior now. 

As that happened, the three walked along the pedestrian-sprinkled sidewalk and straight away from the chaotic café.The seven foot giants in dapper clothes and trench coats would come soon.They would be by soon to squelch the insanity that now consumed the café, and it was prudent to be a decent distance away when that squelching happened.These three didn't quite want to feel blows cracks of repulsor-field batons. 

They continued their walk a bit more.Somewhere along the way, Van let down her night-dark hair.All the while, they looked about for signs of the e-cops.None came to them.Not yet, at least. 

"Myself, I believe this becomes distance enough," said Alia.Then, wordlessly, they stopped their walking and moved to the side of the sidewalk to talk.Alia's new pert face had a faint smile as she looked up and spoke to her two companions."That qualifies as the best amusement I have experienced in memory."The Cloaked Man crossed his arms and grinned at the statement."The statement is understatement, I admit.My long-term memory failed once," she added. 

With everyone standing in a sort of close-standing huddle, Van looked down at the little "girl" in turtleneck and neat pants, then back at the tall "father" in tee shirt and matching slacks.The behavior these two put on back there was abnormal for father and daughter.Van knew this as she stored plenty of behavioral data on those demographics. 

At least, the behavior would be abnormal if these two were human.But they were not.Their skin was too smooth and perfect, which made those two cyborgs.The crystals and circuitry of Van's mind continued analysis, trying to understand the "man" and the "little girl." 

She had to take in more information.But first, she had to be kind.A pair of cyborgs took her from her life of abuse, if being a humanoid robot could be life.Looking down at the sidewalk, Van spoke with sincerity—some of her long dark hair falling to the sides of her pale face."I have to thank you two for what you did for me.I never expected people with living brains to help me.Thank you, whoever you two are." 

The Cloaked Man sported an immense grin before speaking."I'm _The Cloaked Man_.And my sidekick is called Alia!"Alia gave a start, being called a _sidekick_."As for thanks," continued The Cloaked Man, "our deed was nothing, Van!We are heroes of truth, good and justice!We act to undo wrongs and help the downtrodden!There is much evil in this city, and it is our quest to stomp out evil wherever it lurks!"The Cloaked Man then reached to his back and unfurled his cape from where it was pulled into his shirt.Unfurled, it rippled grandly at his back, like a banner.He put his hands on his hips, standing proud and said, "We are the _Good Guys League_!" 

Alia large eyes looked up at The Cloaked Man.Just looked.The Cloaked Man looked down at her, and his grin faded.Then he removed his hands from his hips and just let them hang at his sides.There was no need for the small metal-type cyborg to berate him away from this behavior. 

"Okay, okay…" he said in looking at the blonde metal-type cyborg."So I made up the part about the 'Good Guys League.'But we're still out to make justice—for ourselves, at least.Reason enough for saving Van, right Alia?" 

Alia looked up at the gynoid."For _truth's_ sake, we now aim to travel—significant travel.And we both believe we need you—to come along with us.You being 'rescued' was a matter of course.Fate and such."She then looked back up at The Cloaked Man. 

The Cloaked Man nodded."We saw you in a dream, Van.Rather, you were parts of _both_ our dreams.You were in my freaky night-vision.I just—like—had this _vision_ of a deck of cards, and you were one of them.That's chance, right?Or is that fate?Maybe it's that old-fashioned word serendipity.Heh, I like saying that; let me say it again.Serendipity.Se-ren-dipity.Dipity-dipity-dipity.Se-ren…Dipity!"Then Alia gave him that look again, and he stopped."I'm stopping!I'm stopping!Just cool it a bit…" _Se-ren-dipity_! 

"But you still took me away from that place," said the synthetic Eurasian girl.With all the mannerisms of a human being, she played with the edges of her too-short skirt, looking down."It's just that I've always been owned by Steve.And all this time, I thought that he was a human, given how fat he was.Who would dare manufacture a synthetic body like that?Someone intending to make an android that passed for human—real fleshed, not a cyborg. 

"Because of Steve, I always believed that humans and cyborgs, at least those with living brains, were with bad behavior and ill nature.I never thought that anyone would come to me…"Her mouth opened, but no words came out.Then she shook her head."I'm sorry.It's hard to say more.My thought processes are less than efficient because of my augmented emotional emulation.I must pay you back somehow, but it is hard to say how." 

The Cloaked Man smiled and leaned forward, toward Van.He then tilted his head forward,conspiriationally."You see," he began in a low voice."It's not a good idea to give us that sort of open offer, robo-girl.Alia and I are quite a demanding twosome, and we need a lot done.We've got a big plan, and we need big help in doing it.When the little metal-type cyborg mentioned 'traveling,' she meant _out-of-town_ travel."He looked toward the street and pointed—which was pointing north."We shall travel, and we shall go _adventuring_!We'll get plenty of drama!There will be glory!And wonder! And mystery!Ooh yes, we're going to leave Brunswick and cross the plains.We're heading north, to the City of Slow Dreams." 

"_What_?" exclaimed Van, and The Cloaked Man looked back at her."Are you crazy?Isn't the City of Slow Dreams just another traveler's legend?According to what I know, at least what was downloaded into my memory, the City of Slow Dreams could not exist out there.It's anarchy out on the plains—just wide spaces with plenty of grass and rubble-remains of cities destroyed by the War.Oh sure, there are some settlements.But those settlements are scattered and primitive." 

Alia listened, then began to tug at the long collar of her turtleneck shirt.The Cloaked Man noticed the movement."Yeah, you can just dump that outfit if you want, Alia.The e-cops could see you and could become a problem._Could_ be, if they had competence enough to come look for us, including you with that particular outfit."Alia slightly bowed her head in acknowledgement, then removed her clothes: turtle neck, slacks, and shoes.She went to the alley to put the clothes in a neat pile, thinking about how she could alleviate The Cloaked Man's wordiness. 

She returned to the other two—and was then openly stared at by Van.The gynoid's eyes were wide at seeing Alia's bare body, which just resembled form-fitting armor on a petite female."What?You're a _metal-type_ cyborg!How can you still be alive?"The software of Van's thought processes was really being flexed now.First, this "Cloaked Man" made a claim about the City of Slow Dreams being real, in addition to believing in a dream about needing a gynoid.Now, the little blonde girl-woman revealed herself as a metal-type cyborg.This all stretched probability. 

"Gynoid, you're not taking all of this too well, are you?" asked The Cloaked Man, regarding Van."Anyway, we _are_ heading for the City of Slow Dreams.You know, that wonderful place where the decency and stability of the Old Times still live on, where people can get decent lives and purpose, and all that.We're not going to travel on foot to get there, though.We're going to buy some nuke bikes and head out to there…If I only knew where to buy them…" 

Alia gently shook her head."You never told me that part of the plan, Cloaked Man." Likely, you have been in this city longer than I have.Yet, you fail to know some of the most basic facts about Brunswick's more colorful segment of the populace.Namely, I refer to the Ganglanders." 

The Cloaked Man looked at Alia, then at Van.Both looked on at him now as if he suddenly sprouted an arm from his mouth, and that arm was now flying away."Well, so what if I didn't know?Not that I'm stupid or anything; I read several articles in the _Bub City News_ on nuke bikes.So we go to wherever the Ganglanders buy their nuke bikes.We then get three of our own.Then we mount up and head for the city limits.What's so staringly hard about that?" 

Van spoke. "_Nobody_ can buy nuke bikes.Nobody.That is why almost no one other than Ganglanders own nuke bikes, in fact.And the few people that obtained nuke bikes and _lived_ almost never ride them out in public.Because they paid high prices to get them, but not with money." 

The Cloaked Man put on a sarcastic show of fright by slapping his hands to his face and widening his eyes, mouth wide as well."O-o-oh.Sounds _scary_!I'm _so-o-o_ scared.It sounds so-o-o _frightening_ that I'd piss in my pants—if I ever needed to piss, being synthetic bodied and all.Though I don't know what you're talking about, I'm still not scared." 

Van shook her head."Cloaked Man, I'm going to say this straight: You have to beat Ganglanders in fighting—in dueling—to get nuke bikes.Nuke bikes are never sold in shops.Nobody but the Ganglanders even know where to get them.And then…" 

"I know about the origins theories," interjected The Cloaked man."I read the journals.Trouble is, those damned journals can't find the source of the darned things.Why not?Administrations has its hands in everyone's commercial business " 

Van counter-argued."Not in _everyone's _business.City Administrations almost doesn't do anything outside running utilities, primary source materials synthesis, and all that.Administrations just subsidizes roughly twenty or so e-cops for this entire town, just for appearance's sake.Then, the Ganglanders just do their own thing.The Ganglanders, they're their own sort of tribe, you know?" 

The Cloaked Man smiled, then gave a chuckle."Heh heh…Oh, this is all turning out to be so much darned fun!Bad enough some Ganglanders just like to pick fights.Now, we have to pick a fight with _them_?That'll be a first."He shrugged his shoulders."Yeah, let's go raise a little Hell with Ganglanders.It shouldn't be hard at all.In fact, it should be downright easy!" 

"Do you merely rant now," voiced Alia, "or is that an authentic statement?You seem to be in another one of your moods.Be more succinct." 

The Cloaked Man looked up and over Alia's pale-blonde head.Not too hard to do, since he was two feet taller than her small self.Behind her, on the street, was a group of four synth leather-clad ladies and gentlemen willing to take into the very sort of proposition The Cloaked Man had in mind. 

It was very silly of the three not to have noticed that pedestrian traffic had now switched over to the sidewalk on the other side of the street.And, it was foolish not to have noticed the bike-mounted Ganglanders right there—two males and two females, all thin and young-looking.They were listening all of this time.Now, they wanted to talk. 

One of the two Ganglanders, a red-haired leggy one with a sharp and dangerous face, put down her bike's kickstand—a six-foot dangerous-looking female in the Ganglander outfit of jeans, tee shirt and black jacket.She then slowly dismounted—her green eyes on The Cloaked Man.She then stood immediately before her nuke bike.Pointing with a gleaming silvery hand, she addressed The Cloaked Man. 

"You, chap, desire nuke bikes for your party, eh?" she said, her round kind of English accent immediately clear."Well-well-well, we've nuke bikes.Plenty!You'll not be able to nick them, mind you.No, my caped friend, you'll have to do the opposite of that; you must make an attempt at earning them.Am I clear on that point?" 

The Cloaked Man nodded.That, and the other two members of his party moved to flank him.The Ganglander leader then spoke on."Then, my good man, I am clear.To everyone.Good.Now, after a roundabout means of introduction, let me tell of how your party may try to earn _three_ rugged, authentic, and downright rollicking nuke bikes. 

"You will rumble for them—to tell you what one of your colleagues already told you.In townie translation, 'rumbling' means fighting—to the point where one's body can no longer move—or one's brain is dead.That is, damage to the point of immobility or death.Agree?"She saw The Cloaked Man nod. 

"You agree.So we begin the match.And, I choose to fight that metal-type cyborg."Alia's large dark eyes narrowed.The Ganglander leader smiled."Don't eye me that way, little one.This is merely business." 

"Then, let us commence transactions," said Alia in turn.That led to some chattering and knowing nods among the Ganglanders behind their leader.For someone so small, that one was pretty sassy. 

The Ganglander leader raised her right hand to the sky, the fine titanium bonework glinting against the sky."Make a duel ring!" she said.Her three cohorts complied. 

With hearty thundering of engines, they motored their bikes back to the street, circling.Then, they parked them ten yards apart—forming an equilateral triangle in which the bikes were the three equidistant points.The three Ganglanders then stood to the rights of their bikes.This alternating combination of Ganglanders and nuke bikes formed a circular fighting space—what they called a "duel ring." 

The Ganglander leader knelt.Too quickly, she next leapt upward and backward—airborne.She came down in a reverse dive, landing on her solid armored palms.This put her in the center of the duel ring.She then righted herself, bringing her legs and feet to the ground.That was a show of intense control and agility for someone with a replacement body. 

"Come along, metal-type.If you're really an antique, then your War skills should prove an interesting match for my own fighting style." 

Alia heard, then leapt high and away from her own friends, a small figure against the blue sky.She simply landed on her armored boot-feet, standing five yards in front of the leader.Dr. Gallager was to thank for this upgrade from simple metal feet to these advanced peds. 

Alia in the duel ring, the Ganglander leader said, "Let's rock."The Ganglander raised her metal fists, eyeing the small metal-type cyborg.She took some sideward steps left, then right.Repeated the movement.Her black booted feet were quite nimble.Then, in mid-step, she did a low-flying leap at Alia, alloy fist raised... 

Alia tried to sway, to evade…_Clink_!Metal struck metal; the Ganglander's fist put a scrape in Alia's upper right arm.Knocked by the blow, Alia spun to the right, in the direction of the Ganglander.And in using the spinning momentum from the blow, she put force into a left punch—her metal fist moved… 

That blow struck the Ganglander in the back, putting her on the ground immediately before Alia.The Ganglander then curled herself into a ball—before she kicked out with both feet. 

Alia took the blow in the shoulders, and she was flung up and away, to crash-land near one of the Ganglander cohorts that formed the rumble ring. 

He then spread his booted feat, ready to move and prevent Alia from escaping this duel.But Alia would not run from this fight.She stood, shaky but ready.There was no real damage in that blow; the Ganglanders wore rubberoid-soled boots. 

Real damage could be done with metal hitting surfaces, not with rubberoid-booted feet!Alia made two such surfaces again by curling her fists.She then carefully advanced to the taller and synth-fleshed cyborg.Engaging her opponent again, Alia went on the offensive. 

She first jabbed twice at the Ganglander's gut, moving with machine speed.And the blows were blocked—at cost.Blocking Alia's metal-fisted punches meant that the Ganglander lost some myogel muscle tissue from the forearms.Then, the little titanium-bodied girl did a low kick, hitting her opponent just above the knee—scraping away some bloodless synth-flesh from the opponent. 

In a grunt of shock and weakness from the leg damage, the Ganglander fell forward and toward Alia.Alia tried to leap backward, but her legs were caught by the falling Ganglander.The small metal-type was lifted into the air. 

Then, in a frightful rush, she was being brought head-first to the asphalt…_Clunk!_At least, Alia's head would have hit the asphalt if she hadn't curled herself smaller in mid-swing.Instead, her back struck the street.There were radiating cracks where she landed. 

Though feeling weakened yet more, Alia managed to get her legs beneath her.Her shoulder-length pale hair in disarray, she had to brushed it back away from her face.She then prepared for the next oncoming attack. 

The Ganglander leader stepped forward, fist up.And then she stood was over her opponent.That was when Alia struck up and out, going for the Ganglander's abdomen.Alia then put her hands together, forming a double fist.She struck upward, a gray blur of speed and strength. 

There was an explosion of sparks as the Ganglander's abdomen was deeply split.Her entire body went rigid from the damage.Another spray of sparks from the new bodily opening, and the Ganglander collapsed.Her mobility systems were almost totally destroyed; she could not control her body.And the short circuiting shocked her life support, sweeping her brain into unconsciousness as autostasis took over. 

Alia stood, her fists still up and readyin case the Ganglander only feigned defeat.Alia herself was not quite feeling in perfect condition.Shaky, with scrapes in her body's armor, and with shocks to her own internal systems, she just managed to weather the battle.Her opponent had not quite done so. 

"You win the match, little cyborg," said one of the two male Ganglanders, one with a crewcut.He alone then moved to Alia.Alia turned to face him, then she fell.Too weakfrom the fighting.He lifted her from the asphalt—and moved her to his own nuke bike. 

She struggled, never before having mounted such a motorcycle."Don't fall off!Hold onto the handlebars, kid!" he said.With Alia's hands holding on the handlebars, that Ganglander put his thumbs at the edges to change the auto-locks to her own energy signature.Now, only Alia could use this nuke bike; it would "recognize" her when she mounted it for use. 

Then he adjusted the seat, lowering its middle."Just a minute more…" he said.After a few button presses on the vehicle's hydraulics, the vehicle was low enough that Alia could ride it. 

The other two still-standing Ganglanders stood away from their bikes, smiling Alia's friends.The Cloaked Man and Van then took to the two offered vehicles—given with a metal handshake each. 

After giving the three their nuke bikes and resetting the frequency auto-locks to the new owners, the Ganglanders lifted their damaged leader.One put her over a shoulder and moved to her nuke bike.With her over his left shoulder, he used his right to gently twist the accelerator in the handle.Then he slowly rode away, his cohorts jogging behind. 

Before they were totally out of sight, one turned in mid-jog and waved at the mounted people.Then, there was a thrumming of repulsor engine from among the three bikes here.That was Alia, her now having activated her nuke bike. 

"It is learning by observation!" she shouted above the rumble.In turn, Van and The Cloaked Man twisted the accelerators of their respective nuke bikes.In squeals of rubberoid tires, they turned around and motored up the street—vanishing from sight in under a moment. 


	3. Dream Chapter 3...

City of Slow Dreams: Chapter 3 (by Elliot Bowers) 

     As they rode along, The Cloaked Man had some vague idea of what to do next.  What they did for now was just for escapism.  Their newly acquired rides were fit for just that, too.  Excellent suspension to cushion the ride, about a hundred years of nuclear-fueled  torque,  half a tank of nanobot-containing medium for autorepairs and self-maintenance, nuke bikes were very care-free vehicles.  It was very easy to just lean back in the seats and just…_ri-i-ide:  the relaxing flow of it all, a flow made with the thrum of the repulsor engines, the passing road, and the wind.  _

     Even better, they were riding in the late afternoon; the roads were almost totally unoccupied.  Administration's product trucks were almost totally absent from Brunswick's streets; shipping was handled in the morning.  The only other real vehicles to contend with were the very occasional cars.  Other nuke bikes were not in the street. Whenever there were other vehicles, The Cloaked Man and his new crew just had to gently bank right or left turns around them—trucks and cars.  

     The Cloaked Man just had an attitude that was just, _Who cares? As he and his two other party members gently banked around one particularly large and industrial four-wheeled specimen—a tall truck carrying goods—he contemplated his own status in this city.  What was his place in the city, his job? _

     In Brunswick, one's job was the only thing that set one's status.  That was because jobs were of the city's official hierarchy.  The better a person's job, the more stock a person had—until one was part of Brunswick's government itself: made an executive.    

     The Cloaked Man had an infinite amount of dollars; he did not have a job.  He just apported all the cash he needed from his left pocket.  His money came from somewhere and nowhere at the same time.  Without a job, though, he had no status—regardless of how much money he had.   

     Once, he even offered to sell the beginnings of his technology to Administrations, to get a job as techie, but Administrations refused him.  He demonstrated some apport technology to executives;  they laughed.  And worse.  _That's sleight-of-hand, said one.  __There is no way that your technology is possible, said another__.  You're nuts, went another.  __Who gave you that technology? went another.__  Get the Hell out of this office.  You'll never make executive…  So on and such._

     The Cloaked Man took his apport technology and developed it himself.  He  then apported enough cash to get an customized synthetic body—one with inducers in his back for his static capacitor cape and apportation circuitry installed in his mobility systems.  Since apportation took a significant amount of energy, he could only configure components of his new body only so much.  His body's components could now just generate apportation fields in a small space left of his left hip—or where his left pocket would be.  Now, any item he could recognize, he could apport.  Like cash.     

   Odd, he made that particular technology on a whim.  Somewhere in The Cloaked Man's easy-riding subconscious was insane knowledge; the absolutely maddening science that allowed him to develop apporter technology.  Likely, The Cloaked Man had the same sort of deep-seated but controlled madness that allowed for the improvement of nanotechnology and innovations in cyborg technology. 

     Whatever.  His thoughts just went their own ways for a time as he comfortably cruised through streets.  It was also likely that his cohorts' thoughts were going the same wayward ways.  About other people…  He saw the pedestrians in the periphery of his vision, the townies.  They had their lives to live in this city of short buildings, small shops, factories, and all that.

     The Cloaked Man knew that they were soon approaching the western-most edge of the city:  There were more houses.  Then,  one of the party decided to turn left at the next intersection.  Alia probably did; she was on The Cloaked Man's left.  And they did, before they took another left and went back in the very general direction of the city's heart.  Still riding on… 

     Elsewhere, someone was not having such an easy time.  That was apparent in how he looked and sounded.  This, though he was among friends. 

     "You're forgetting to ask me just _o-o-one thing," said that someone, not having a good time on this late-afternoon sidewalk.  He slur-stated that last statement to five other standing Ganglanders.  Well, as everyone else stood; Zackus swayed.  _

     He also had to make a conscious effort to keep from crushing the bottle of Brennan's Special in his left hand: one of few drinks tailored to pass through cyborg digestive systems—for the sake of getting his brain drunk.

     With cyborgs, drunken slurring was not too much an issue.  Motor functions and speech remain relatively intact as alcohol only goes a cyborg's brain.  As such, judgement is always a casualty.

    The five other Ganglanders here had seen Zackus get sloshed before.  But this time, this was Zackus sloshing his brain into the darkened depths of oblivion.  They were here now as a last-minute stopgap against any sort of drunken mistake Zackus could make.  

     Lula shook her blonde head, her sharp-featured face annoyed at Zackus' lack of judgement.  The other Ganglanders looked on.  "Forgotten to ask you something?    Please do the generous favor of enlightening us on what.  We ignorant people simply adore your deep (if alcohol-sodden) wisdom," she said Lula, her arms crossed.  Unsaid by her was,  _And let's hope you finish that bottle before it finishes you.   _

     "You've forgotten to _ask me.  __Forgot to a-a-ask…  __If I care!  Ha-__ha!" he finished, then punctuated the answer with a quick swig from his bottle.  The liquid sloshed all about his realistic lips and mouth, dribbling.  He swallowed the mouthful, and the mellow stuff went down his myogel esophagus._

      Jimmy stared at Zackus.  "You have to care.  Just have to.  If you don't, well…  Maybe we won't be around to pick up your scattered parts because of the result.  With e-cops being constantly suspicious of us and plenty of townies afraid, you could get hurt if you're not careful.  Just listen to yourself.  You're too bent to make safe decisions now."

     Zackus made slow and very careful steps toward Jimmy.  Zackus squinted at him, then said,  "Ah, but who's better at making decisions for my…  myself than _me?"  Zackus put his right hand to his own tee-shirted chest, the titanium of the hand gleaming.  "For __me, __I'm the best freaking decision-maker!  And, let me re-__mind you of my-y-y best decision for __me._

     " That little freak antique has to _die.  No way am I going to let something four feet tall live with the reputation of beating me!  The __Zackus!__  Not going to let it live with that reputation, not its whole little four-foot life."      _

     He brought his bottle to his lips yet again and tipped back the contents. That resulted in Zackus tipping himself onto his own back.  He was that mellow.  As the world suddenly seemed so smooth and wavy, he also decided that staying on the sidewalk was the best thing to do now until everything became organized again.  He did not care that his cohorts were leaving him, leaving the drunken fool to pickle, slosh, smash and waste his brain.   __

     Later, the party of three eventually meandered back to Brunswick's shopping district, at roughly 1600 hours.  Then The Cloaked Man snappingly remembered what he wanted to do next.  He looked left at riding Alia, her face holding a faint smile as her pale hair fluttered in the air current.

     "_Hey, let's park over on that upcoming street!" he shouted above the rumbling of the nuke bikes.  Alia heard, and she nodded.  He looked right, and Van—still in her brief waitress' outfit—heard.  She nodded as well.  _

     They slowed, then parked their nuke bikes single-file along the curb.  Stopped, they released the handlebars, put down kickstands, and dismounted.  Doing that turned off the nuke bike's engines and locked the vehicles; they would only work again when their current owners' body frequencies were near enough to the seats and handlebars.  Or, when they mounted the nuke bikes again.

     Now on the sidewalk, they gathered for a close talk.  Waitress-looking Van and metal-bodied blonde Alia walked over to The Cloaked Man, curious.  Van spoke first.  "Is something wrong?  I thought we were going to just leave the city and travel?  You know, face big dangers and journey to a legendary place.  An adventure…" 

     The Cloaked Man looked at Van.  He then hunched over just enough as so his six-foot self was eye-to-eye with the five-foot Eurasian gynoid.  "Yeah, there's something wrong.  Or, there's some_one wrong, that word used if you consider yourself a person and not a robot."  Van went silent, wordlessly compliant.  "Your outfit, it's __all wrong.  Look at her, Alia!  You ought to know; you're female!  But look at her!  Just look…at…her…__outfit!"_

     Alia grinned as The Cloaked Man stepped behind Van, grabbing the dumbstruck gynoid by her thin shoulders.  He presented her to Alia, and he spoke.  "Her blouse and apron, they're so darned _corny!  Look at her top.  The blouse is passable, but the apron…  Yech!  Looks so… So servant-like! She looks like a freaking waitress!  She's not anymore!"  He then moved to Van's left and made an open-handed gesture at her very brief skirt._

     "And look at that!  Steve must have been a horny jackass of a misogynist, robot or not.  Go figure, a jackass programmer must have made a real jackass of an android.  Namely, Steve.  Steve the misogynist android.  Steve-the-misogynist-android-with-a-jackass-programmer must have put my…"  The Cloaked Man then wrapped his right arm around Van's shoulders—a  sideward hug.  "Must have put my poor, dear friend Van in such a slutty skirt.  No way to treat a lady, be she real or robotic inside.  Jackass programmer!"  He unhanded Van, who smiled in spite of herself.

     "Okay, let's freaking _undo what Steve-the-misogynist-android did.  Let's go get Van some __real clothes."  The Cloaked Man pointed down at nearby Alia.  "Since __you know women's clothing better than I do, I __order you to help Van choose clothing."  He then pointed to himself, that same finger to his forehead.  He crossed his eyes in looking at his self-accusing hand.  "I also order __myself to pay for it, since I can just apport all the cash necessary."  _

     He brought down his hand and uncrossed his eyes.  "Okay, with the orders passed out, let's go shopping!" he said before turning around, facing the red-bricked garment shop immediately behind him.  They walked into that shop, _Janice's._

     Inside _Janice's  shop were plenty of women's clothes.  Circular racks of women's clothes in the front half.  Straight aisles of women's clothes in the back.  Clothes hung on the walls.  Clothes for short women, tall women, real-bodied or synthetic bodied.  And likely, some clothes could be slightly modified for metal-type bodies.  Amidst this was the cashier's counter at the right.  A thin dark-haired and darker-skinned woman stood there, wearing her hair in a bun and a white dress on herself. _

     She came from behind the counter and over to the newly arrived party.  "Hello, how may I help you three?" she asked, hands clasped before herself.    

     "I need clothes," said The Cloaked Man.  The shopkeeper eyed him, still managing to hold to her courteous smile despite what the castually dressed man with a red cape said.  "I need clothes for looking pretty and able at the same time.  Clothes not too slutty but not too butch."

     She managed this store for forty years and had strength enough to give a polite laugh.  "So, sir…  I suppose I could help you dress in something appropriate to your…  Ah, figure.  I could find something to fit your breadth of shoulders, tops and such.  But some items may have to be taken in at the waist."

     The Cloaked Man smiled.  "You think so?  My figure really looks awful.  Like, I tried body upgrades—and even considered getting another body—but my girfriend wouldn't like it.  She wants me to dress in the way she…"  From there, The Cloaked Man started a rant.  

     As The Cloaked Man ranted, Alia had turned to face him.  She tried eyeing him with her huge eyes, looking slightly angry enough to get her message through to him.  But he gibbered on with his inappropriate talk, talking some talk about wanting to "dressing like the gentler gender" and "being a woman inside."  Not that there was anything wrong with crossdressing in Alia's opinion, but they had business to attend.  

     Alia then reached up, her gleaming metal hand open, and firmly _slapped The Cloaked Man on the right arm.  She was rewarded with an "__Ouch!" and blessed silence from the madman.     _

     "Sheesh!  Okay, okay!  I was just joking with you, miss shopkeeper.  Actually, my _friends here want to buy some things.  My little friend Van needs something else.  Whatever she wants.  And my even littler friend Alia—my very__ little and __tiny friend…"  He ignored Alia's even more reproachful glare from below.  "…Will help."  He then grinned at the small blonde metal-type:  Her cute synth-flesh face rendered her look of anger into a pout.  She was just too__ darned __adorable to take too seriously; he resisted a whim to pinch her cheeks just now._

    And then, having spoken with the elegant shopkeeper, Alia and Van did look through plenty of clothes.  Alia had some opinions on clothes, having looked at people of Brunswick for some time.  As for Van, she was too painfully self-conscious at kind treatment she was being given:  Someone—a person with a real human brain—was going to buy _her clothes, and someone with a real brain was helping her choose them.  Van never had friends before; she thought that robots were not supposed to have them at all.  _

     The Cloaked Man crossed his arms in looking at those two females choose clothes.  He rolled his eyes a few times.  Then he just turned to look at the wall behind him.  Yes, he wanted Van to look like something other than a waitress.  Anything else but that.  But all this trouble for shopping was annoying.  What was this going to be, a fashion show?  Alia was probably the worst; she took plenty of time in helping Van choose clothes.  Why should anyone care so much about what he or she wore.

     In half an hour of going along racks and, those two synthetic-bodied females and the shopkeeper finally chose a set of outfits.  They went between the racks and rows of clothes and to the fitting rooms at the back.  The women talked and whispered and such.   Primarily, they talked.  But they sometimes laughed back there.  Even Van laughed.  What were they doing back there, taking rush pills?  Toping it up?  Doing the technically impossible and manually rewiring their synthetic bodies for sexual stimulation?  No, no, no…  

     Finally, after who knew how long (an hour, really), all of that conspiracy at the back of the shop stopped.  What The Cloaked Man heard next was footsteps.  Three sets of footsteps moving in procession.

     Then there she was.  From between the racks of clothes came a more respectfully dressed Van.  She had a new blouse: simpler than her previous one, but without that apron, and didn't cling to her small breasts like skin.  And she had slacks that showed the curves of hips and nice legs but without clinging to them.  Van looked very pretty—nice figure to go with her pretty face.  _Pretty, because that word connoted cuteness and beauty._

     She stood with her hands at her sides, letting The Cloaked Man look.  Then she did a slow turn, arms out.  Faced him again, smiling.  There was an appreciative nod from him.  Van would have blushed at his stare now—if synth-flesh could blush.  All the while, in the periphery of his vision, he could see Alia's big-eyed stare, a stare that said, _Be serious, Cloaked Man; Van is very sensitive about her new outfit._

     "I like it, Van.  I really like it…" he said, thinking of further praise.  "You look pretty.  Much prettier than before.  That change of clothes changed your appearance, really!" he said.  Then he looked left, "Okay, Janice, let me pay."  

     And when The Cloaked Man paid, his "tip" left Janice agog.  The Cloaked Man could have easily bought half the store's stock with the money he left.  But he just left. 

     They emerged from the shop into the yellowing sunlight of very late afternoon.  A  breeze blew down the street and sidewalk out here.  There was then  a flash of black-and-blue movement from the side as someone dashed at them.  A _clunk came as that someone struck Van on the side of her head._

     Van collapsed to the sidewalk and no longer moved.  Some sounds of static came from her open mouth before closing, silence.  TCM and Alia were stunned as their newly dressed party member lie there broken.  Then they became _angry._

     TCM spoke first.  "Who the _Hell broke our robot?"  He looked up from the broken gynoid and saw a mouse-faced Ganglander standing there—tee shirt, jeans and boots.  This Ganglander was missing his synth-leather black jacket, though.  Probably ditched it to move slightly faster.  "Hey, __you broke our robot!" said The Cloaked Man.  "And we just acquired her, too!  I suppose you're going to pay for the damage to this one.  Or, I'll make you pay for the damage, __and force-feed you some packets of oatmeal.  It is a way to begin to pay._

     "Payment, isn't that better than oatmeal, by the way.  By the highway and byway?  Ever think about highways and oatmeal, man?  Just give me a choice of finger flippers and I'll let you know…."  

     Indeed The Cloaked Man's talking mutated into a rant.  As The Cloaked Man bedazzled the drunken cyborg by talking free-form, Alia knelt by Van's side.  She put fingers of her right hand to Van's forehead, then put her left fingers to the center of the gynoid's chest.  Through the thin material of Van's blouse, Alia's fingers could do preliminary readings.  Van was broken—or dead_._

       In addition to ranting, the Cloaked Man now began to point angrily in the direction of the Ganglander, who stood there with a stupid grin on his face.  That man with the cape, in the opinion of the Ganglander, was _nuts.  It was evident in his speech.  In fact, the Ganglander vaguely hoped that that man's insanity wasn't catching._

     Too bad; it was.  The Cloaked Man's free-association ranting easily discombobulated an already alcohol-muddled Ganglander.  The Cloaked Man had worked his current ranting into a full-tilt, swerving force of confusion now.  "…And finally," he said somewhere in his twisted talk, "that is why bumper stickers are best left _not dipped in chocolate pudding.  Keep that, and mouse balls, in mind the next time you step down to your local haberdasher's."_

     That statement, and many others, left Zackus the Ganglander slack-jawed.  As it was, that last bottle of Brennan's Special really ruined his thinking.  He simply planned to smack and kill the little antique cyborg.  But somehow, for whatever reason, he decided to hit the tall female instead.  Why?  For the drunken man's answer, why not?  

     Now he would pay for that mistake for it.  Now he was facing the full brunt of The Cloaked Man's driveling mad talk.  "…Why, when I was just half a glint in my father's ceramic eye, I was eating lightly fried crickets by the light of a pale winter moon.  Not that it took too much maturity, mind, but crickets and moonlight were both darned good back when I was your age.

     "Not to discredit you and your generation though, even though you lost respect for fried crickets and lunar illumination.  You also lack respect for mutilated pennies and shotgun-blasted pigeons.  Not that pigeons exist anymore, but you should respect them all the same.  If I had a bag of fish heads and magic markers for every word of disrespect you even think of regarding the latter and former, I would have a lot of magic markers and fish heads!  

     "But the truth is, it all comes down to brain power.  Yes, raw brains.  It took fresh brains to mutilate pennies, then raw brains to prepare lightly friend crickets.  And you can use that raw brains today.  See, you go down to your local delicatessen or _bucherie and ask for raw brains—cow brains will do.  They'll synthesize them for you if they don't have them in stock.  Then you can take the brains back home, mash them up, then add them to the batter you use to fry up any snack.  And fry crickets._

     "Are you listening?  You're looking a bit wasted.  Like, _mutilated."   The Cloaked Man knew that his stream of free-form talking was thoroughly mangling this Ganglander's state of mind, but he did not care._

     As The Cloaked Man ranted on, Little Alia then stood up from fallen Van.  Her large eyes were darkened and angry.  Then, The Cloaked Man's madcap ranting stopped.  She _knew that slack-jawed and swaying Ganglander.  Oh yes, she certainly did.  Since her first day in this city, Alia __remembered who he was. _

     "_Zackus," said Alia.  In two powered steps, the metal-bodied blonde waif was behind that Ganglander, her fists up and ready.  With two straight punches of her titanium fists, she tore away parts of his lower back.  Shreds of synth-cotton and bloodless synthetic flesh sprayed and fluttered to the sidewalk.  _

     Zackus managed to turn around.  "Wa-hey!  Is that supposed to hurt, little antique?"  He felt Alia then kick him in the left thigh, sending some more of his synthetic flesh shredding away.  As she snapped back to her fighting stance, he brought his left fist down, scraping her  right shoulder.  

     The blow knocked her down, but not for long.  Almost as soon as she was down, she was up again.  Damn, the little thing was quick, probably made quicker or something with the same operation that gave her a new face and hair.  

     Her solid hands moved very quickly in counter-attacking, gray streaks that slashed across Zackus' midsection.  Synthetic flesh flew in all directions as Alia used multiple attacks to lay open his artificial body.  With the myogel of his abdomen remove, his inner-components became visible.  She then reached into the Ganglander's abdomen with both hands, gripping those components.  When she tugged, sparks and smoke then obscured Alia from sight.  

     That did it.  Zackus fell to his back, body severely damaged.  Alia tossed the electromechanical innards she held, knelt atop the paralyzed Ganglander's chest.  Tearing out those components meant that Zackus' brain was no longer able to control his body at all—no movement, no speech, and certainly no escape.  

     This, as Alia's fists went slamming into his forehead to make frightfully large dents.  Worse, for Zackus, the dents in his head became larger and deeper.  As The Cloaked Man looked on, feeling a touch sickened, Alia reduced Zackus' metal-skulled head to something relatively flat, flesh-coated, and bumpy—brains oozing from the eye sockets.  The ceramic eyes were long since misplaced.  

     The Cloaked Man wanted to stop this; it was becoming redundant.  "Alia, that's the real definition of overkill!  The guy is deadly dead!  Get me?" he shouted.  He saw Alia pound the flattened skull again.  "Alia!  Get a grip!" shouted The Cloaked Man.  "Deader and deader, how much dead can someone get…?"  

     Somewhere in her haze of anger, Alia heard that distant voice.  Her head was just so full of anger.  It was anger that built up all of this while.  Being insulted, being beaten, being hated and hurt for so long by random Ganglanders and other citizens of Brunswick.  Disrespected until she got a new face and scalp.  Maybe, she _had to let out her anger.  She then stood up and away from her victim, her solid knuckles moist with blood and slick brain-matter. _

     "_Hey you kid!  Hold it!" shouted someone from somewhere on the street, very loudly.  That person's voice was amplified, in fact.  And after that loud shouting, there were very loud footsteps approaching the scene.  The Cloaked Man knew who approached; he did not even have to turn to find out._

     The two gigantic brown-haired figures in brown trench coats came running up, dark repulsor batons drawn and sparking.  They stopped at the scene of this particular public disturbance: a Ganglander with his brain smashed and a metal-type cyborg with hands moist from doing the deed.  Disgusting.  And the e-cops would have to clean it up.

     "It was like that when I got here," said The Cloaked Man, raising his hands.  "Rather, it was likely to get like that when we got here.  Bound to happen by fate and all that."  He looked from one e-cop to the other, finally noticing how all e-cops had the very same synthetic bodies.  

     "Fated, huh?" asked one e-cop, the one on the left.  "Like those two on the sidewalk were fated to be assaulted and killed in a mini-rumble?  I know what this looks like; I've seen it all before."

     The Cloaked Man's brows beetled, and his lips formed a small "o": a look of annoyance and confusion.  "_Mini-rumble?  What in tarnation are you rambling about?  That Ganglander, or that former Ganglander, came out of nowhere with a bottle of Brennan's special.  He must have been drinking from that bottle, because he took it into his head that attacking my party, alone, was a way to pass the time." _

     He then turned to Alia, who now knelt and cradled Van's limp upper-body.  "We were just acting in self-defense.  Not our fault that drunken Ganglanders decided to attack innocent citizens."  

     The second e-cop looked around on this sidewalk, and he saw the unfinished bottle of Brennan's special some yards away.  He shrugged, then put his repulsor baton in his trecnchoat—vanishing.  His partner did the same.    

     "We'll give you that," said the first.  "Self-defense against a Ganglander.  But it's still a public disturbance.  We have to take you in, at least."  

     "Oh, _cool!" exclaimed The Cloaked Man, putting his hands to his cheeks.  "We're going to an authentic e-cop quiz-session!  I read all about it in __Bill Street Blues and __R.U.P.D. Blue.  Are we going to be treated like real bad guys, being cuffed and hustled downtown?  Will we go into the interro room with just chairs and a table—a single bright white light of perusal overhead, a magic mirror of deception against the right wall?"_

     Both the first and second e-cop had looks of their own to give.  Apparently, this caped man pulled descriptions almost straight out of pulp fiction.  And he exaggerated, probably because he was nuts.  

     The second e-cop spoke.  "No, we're not going to treat you like 'bad guys,' because we can't officially call you bad guys.  We just need to take you down for questioning."  He looked down at the metal-type cyborg-girl, who now looked up from where she knelt on the sidewalk—by her fallen friend  He knew that she would want to carry her friend; cuffs would keep her from doing so.  "And sorry to disappoint, but we won't cuff you."  The second e-cop saw The Cloaked Man snap his fingers in disappointment. 

     Little Alia cradle-carried Van and the first e-cop shoulder-carried the dead Ganglander as they went to the station.  With the shopping district and the tall Administrations in easy reach, this was downtown.  The police station was not at all far away from where the trouble passed.

     Approaching, one could see the simple and rugged design of the station: a two-story, red-brick box with some windows and very tall double doors at the front (for the tall e-cops).  The word POLICE was above the entrance: simple and accurate, a typical cliché of Brunswick.

     The Cloaked Man had words to say on the simplicity of that sign, but he said none of them.  He did speak when the e-cops stopped at the front stoop, not quite going in.  "What's going on?  I thought we were going to the interro room.  You know, bright lights and good-guy-bad-guy talk."

     "That's right, _we are going to talk, caped man.  But someone has to stay outside and watch your broken robot," said the first e-cop.  He looked at the little cyborg that still held her friend.  "Tell you what, caped guy.  You can come into the station and talk with us.  Your metal-type friend is free to go."_

     The Cloaked Man agreed to that; he really wanted to see the inside of an e-cop station.  All of those years reading about them, and he would finally get to see the real deal.  So he allowed the e-cop at his back to guide him into the station.  The Cloaked Man, easily subject to flights of fancy, did not see Alia carry Van to the curb—to dry-weep over her. 

     There would not be any tears.  Cyborgs do not shed tears.  This is not to say that cyborg are never deeply saddened.  In fact, the lack of tears makes for their sadness being bottled and more concentrated.  Worse, intense emotional upset can interfere with a synthetic body's workings, making for some actual pain.  According to some, nothing truly hurts like a cyborg's sadness.  Tears bottled up inside for a lifetime.

      Inside the station, the e-cops took The Cloaked Man to the right of the tensor-fielded waiting area and into a narrow hall.  The narrow hall led to multiple places:  holding cells, the briefing room and—of course—the interro room.  To keep The Cloaked Man from "exploring" on his own, the first e-cop kept a firm hand on his right shoulder.  

     In this narrow hall, the interro room was the first on the right.  The Cloaked Man and his escort went in.  The second e-cop went away to process the Ganglander's remains for disposal—likely storage in a disposal pit until the rotted on their own accord.  Later.  That left the first e-cop with The Cloaked Man.

     He was seated in a simple folding metal chair at this wide green table.  It looked like formica.  And, there was a bright light overhead.  He looked right, at the wall opposite the door in, and he saw the two-way "magic mirror" set in one of the gray walls.  Probably, that one-way window had extra tensor fielding.  _This is getting groovier, he thought._

     The large figure in trenchcoat sat down opposite The Cloaked Man, ran a hand through his brown hair, then exhaled.  There was a look of trying and prolonged tiredness in the synthetic flesh of the e-cop's pale face—also seen in his brown ceramic eyes.  And there he sat, opposite The Cloaked Man, just looking for a time.  He was looking for the right words to say.

     "Okay, listen to me, caped man," he began.  

     "No, I'm The Cloaked Man," he corrected.  "I've got a cape at my back, but there's a reason for there being 'Cloak' in my name.  Not going to say why, though."

     "Cloaked Man, listen.  You and your small friend don't seem like the violent type.  Not really.  But we can't have refurbished War antiques going around and just bashing in Ganglanders' brains.  In a way, it's murder.  Self-defense and all, but it's still murder.  

     "The Ganglanders, they usually don't like it when their own is killed.  They say they have a sense of honor, fair play and all that.  But that's really…  What's the word I'm looking for?"

     "Tentative?" suggested The Cloaked Man.

     "Sure, tentative.  The Ganglanders' sense of honor and fair play is just something tentative—something that always needs testing, you know?  Tested constantly.  Not everyone knows this, but the Ganglanders used to be much worse than they were now.  And at one point in history, they absolutely destroyed a quarter of the city.  Next time you go to the residential area in the south-western sector, look around and notice how all the houses look newer.  They were rebuilt from the last Ganglander riots."

     "What year?" asked The Cloaked Man.  "Just for history's sake.  Ever since I came to Brunswick, people kept telling me things about history, but they never give years.  Isn't that annoying?"

     "Come on, don't interrupt me.  And you know better than to ask for specific dates around here.  Everyone has their own idea of what year it is.  Frankly, I don't care; I don't have the energy to care.  _We __e-cops can't care.  Too busy damned trying to keep up the appearance of stability and fairness in this city."  As he talked, the e-cop's tone of voice confirmed something with The Cloaked Man._

     It was something he knew and what plenty others knew, but something few really wanted to talk about out loud.  Being obnoxious, The Cloaked Man did want to talk about it.  "Hmph!  Interesting, you e-cops are just a token force of law enforcement officials!  You said so yourself.  'An appearance of stability and fairness!'  Dang, that's tough and scary, isn't it?"

     The e-cop's face looked temporarily grim.  "Not going to say anything beyond that, Mister Cloaked Man.  Just reminding you that there aren't too many of us.  But we'll do what is necessary to keep this town decent.  We brought you in, didn't we?  And we have repulsor batons.  We can really handle public disturbances—as with what happened at Steve's Café and that scuffle your friend the antique put on."                 

     With that, The Cloaked Man was escorted to the front door of the station.  And when he came out, it was very late noon.  It was also sad to see that Alia and Van were both gone.  What now?  Start the journey now?  No, he would have to look for his two other party members first.  Nothing to do now but to go back to the apartment for rest and recovery; even cyborgs need that. 

    The Cloaked Man strutted back in the direction of his apartment, the wind blowing across the city streets and between buildings.  It was nearing sunset, and most everyone else in the city was at home after work.  He had the sidewalk all to himself.  And he had some time to think.  

  He bothered to care and think about little lost Alia.  Rather, he tried to think _like her.  If he were a homeless, metal-bodied little cyborg, with blonde hair, whose new friend had been killed by a Ganglander drunken on Brennan's Special, where would he—as a petite she—go in the City of Brunswick?  _

     A gust of wind whipped by, fluttering his cape and almost upsetting the rhythm of his strutting walk along this sidewalk.  He shook his head, then walked on.  Anyway, the answer would be, _anywhere.  Alia could go anywhere in Brunswick.  Probably going off somewhere to cry herself to sleep with that broken robot by hers side.  So much for trying to think like Alia.  _

     Eventually, with sunlight gone from the city and the bluish halogen-arc streetlamps  on, he came to his street.  His eyes were in the direction of his apartment building when he _slapped himself in the forehead.   _

     Then, he ran in the direction of his building and stopped, seeing something in the gloom.  _Dang it, he thought, __why didn't I get that stupid __answer?  The answer to his inquiry was right here, before his apartment._

     Where _would Alia go?  Why, where __else?  And here Alia was, visible in the peripheral lighting of the streetlamps.  She was sitting on the curb in front of his building, her knees to her chest, her pale-blonde head down.  The broken gynoid in new clothes was laid flat out on the sidewalk nearby.  _

     The Cloaked Man went to a knee, never minding any possible stains to his tan slacks.  "Hey, shorty!  Don't look that way.  You're going to make me upset."  There was no reply from the little cyborg.  "If you get upset, then I'll get upset.  And when I get upset, everyone's going to get upset.  But don't be sad; it's not like we can't get a new computer-brain for Van…if that's what's wrong."     

     Alia looked up and straight ahead at the now night-darkened street, her hair splayed on the sides of her face.  She brushed it behind her slightly pointed ears, took in an audible breath.  She then said, still looking away, "That would be failure.  Van would still be dead.  Replacing her A.I. module completely would still mean that the original Van is  dead, replaced with just another intelligence."  

     "But we can't just leave Brunswick without a gynoid!    Our dreams said we needed a Eurasian gynoid, right?  Our dreams didn't _say, but had the gynoid in the cards.  And we can't just drag around a broken robot-girl on our nuke bikes.  What are we going to do, get a machinist to dismantle her for easier shipping?"_

     Alia looked at him, her new face deadpan.  "I can repair her mind.  Buy me parts, which are inherent in a new A.I. module.  Then it can be done."  As she said this, her dark ceramic eyes held confidence.  "It can be done.  It must be done."

     The Cloaked Man certainly saw something in Alia's eyes.  And it was not just the indirect glint of the streetlights.  "Tell you what.  We'll put the gynoid in my apartment for safekeeping.  Very early tomorrow morning, as soon as the shops open up again, we'll go buy a new A.I. module—for parts.  Then you can spend all day at my place, playing with Van's processors."      

     To that plan, Alia listened to every syllable and nuance.  After The Cloaked Man laid out that plan, she stared into his eyes.  Ceramic eyes to ceramic eyes.  Then, she agreed with a single nod.  

     They then went in for the night.  Up the stairs and into The Cloaked Man's apartment.  But Alia insisted on sleeping on the armchair, by the sofa where Van's still form was put.  The Cloaked Man was in his own bedroom, wondering if Alia was becoming too darned attached to something that was just a robot done up to look like a human being.  Then he dreamed of little blonde elves with big batteries wired into their backs, singing little songs.  Weird. 

     As sunlight broke over the building-jagged horizon of the city, The Cloaked Man was up.  He looked at the gray-painted ceiling lighten from the sunlight through the window—even through the curtain.  He just now noticed smaller details of his apartment, just when he was planning to leave it.  

     He then heard someone swishing around in the tub.  Alia was probably up, soaking city dust from her face and body.  Did metal-type cyborgs rust?  No, that was stupid.  If Alia's body did rust at all, autorepair systems would handle it.  Or it would have rusted into uselessness as she roamed the plains out there. 

     The Cloaked Man got up and put on his black shoes.  Another convenience of being a synthetic-bodied person: one could sleep in the same clothes one wore yesterday, wake up, not change, and not at all stink.  Of course, rubberoid skin still had to be cleaned to prevent dust accumulation.

     He went into the short hall outside his bedroom; the bathroom was through the door on the left.  After he tapped on the door, the swishing water sounds stopped.  Alia spoke.  "A moment more."  She then went back to swishing around.  What in tarnation was she doing in there, swimming?  Given her pitiful size, The Cloaked Man thought that such might be possible.  Nah, she'd probably sink.

     And as soon as he went from the hall and into the living room, he heard the end of the swishing sounds, and then heard the wall-mounted air blower dryer going.  As Alia dried herself, he stood in view of the broken gynoid on the sofa.  

     Van looked as if sleeping, though her chest did not move.  Her smooth and pale face was without expression, just calm.  And her face was visible because the length of her long dark hair was under her.  This was as her hands were across her flat abdomen—blouse and slacks still neat.  

     Alia must have arranged Van that way.  Somewhere, during the night, she probably found a comb and used it to brush Van's hair.  There was probably a comb somewhere in this apartment; he never kept track of the knick-knacks he bought.  The Cloaked Man imagined Alia grooming and singing to Van, as a friend would to someone sick but still in need of bedside care.  Van was just a gynoid, a humanoid _robot, for Thunder's sake!    _

     Then they went through with the order of tasks.  They locked the apartment and jogged to get two of their three nuke bikes by the clothing shop—where they left them.  Then, they sat on the nuke bikes and waited until 0900, when the shops all opened for the day's business.  People stared; seldom did people other than Ganglanders have nuke bikes.  But the people left them alone: Any group of people with viability enough to win nuke bikes was a seriously tough group.     

     Alia and The Cloaked Man rode their two nuke bikes eastward from the clothing shop, over to where machinists had their shops.  They pulled up to one machinist's shop, one just called _Montaigne's Electromechanics.  Alia wanted to shop from this place, and The Cloaked Man came in with her._

     They came out ten minutes later with two A.I. modules and a tool kit.  Alia said they needed just one, and they were painfully expensive.  But The Cloaked Man just laughed; he had money in excess.  To the shock of both the gray-haired tall shopkeeper and Alia, he insisted on two A.I. modules—and a new toolkit.  The one in his apartment probably wasn't best for gynoid repairs.  

     Even more shocking was how The Cloaked Man paid the shopkeeper back there: in cash, all of it from his left pocket.  What madman would carry over two thousand in cash?  Of course, The Cloaked Man was not _actually carrying the cash—just the components  built into his abdomen that apported the cash from between-space.       _

     They arrived back at the apartment at 0945, with the two packages—the brain-sized A.I. modules—and the new toolkit.  Alia took the toolkit in her right and an A.I. module in her left, going to the sofa.  The Cloaked Man was left alone with one of the packages, standing by the door.

     Alia was already at work, taking items from the new toolkit—screwdrivers, a scalpel, a small vial of nanobot medium, and such.  To get at Van's A.I. module, for repairs, Alia was going to have to cut away the rubberoid skin of Van's forehead, unscrew a large part of the titanium casing beneath, and take out the damaged component or components.  Parts of a gynoid's computer brains.

     As he watched, Alia did.  She cut open the bloodless rubberoid over Van's forehead and unscrewed parts.  With her silvery fingers, Alia then reached into the opened forehead and pulled out a long circuit board, studded with stone-sized crystals.  

     The Cloaked Man _knew that Van was just a gynoid.  But seeing an open head with circuitry where a brain ought to be just made him feel a touch odd.  Did he want to watch this?  Oh no, he did not!_

     "I'll go carry Van's nuke bike here," he said as Van quietly and diligently went to work.  As he left, Alia was already opening the sealed package of one of the new A.I. modules.  Testing the strength of his myogel-muscled synthetic physique by carrying a nuclear-powered motorcycle was better than testing his strength of character, watching gynoid head surgery.  

     As he jogged the blocks and miles to where Van's nuke bike waited, he came to know why he did not want to see Alia work on Van's computer-brain.  What if _he was just a robot who just __thought that his brain was human, like Steve, the abusive android?  He was a synth-flesh cyborg, at least.  With that, a person's brain was put in a body with electromechanical insides, titanium bones, and myogel muscle tissue covered over with very realistic skin.  _

     A cyborg's looked human, though the skin was a touch too perfect—blemish-free.  But the brain was still alive, a brain in a plastisteel braincase in the skull, kept alive with a blood flow carrying carbohydrates, proteins, hormones and such synthesized right in the body by nuclear processes. 

     The synth-fleshed Cloaked Man came to Van's nuke bike.  He then knelt and hefted the thing upside down and onto his left shoulder, balancing the seat there with both hands.  And he then had to walk back, walking for over an hour.  Twice, he nearly dropped the vehicle.  But with infinite endurance and maniacal patience, he managed to get the nuke bike there.  A nuke bike riding a person, that was a sight for the morning pedestrian traffic to see.  

     He finally put the motorcycle down, then went up and into his apartment.  And Alia was on the sofa, sitting very close to a newly refurbished Van.  She had her arms crossed and was looking down at the floor. 

     Van looked up at him, as did Alia.  To The Cloaked Man's eyes, the gynoid looked as if nothing at all went wrong.  Even the skin on the forehead head was re-sealed.  Alia must have used dabs of nanobot solution to so flawlessly re-seal the rubberoid skin of Van's forehead.    

     She looked fine.  "Howdy-do, girly?  Glad to see you're fixed up and all.  Are you ready to do some traveling?  Bet you're just as ready to leave this annoying city as I am by now."   And in fact, Van was.  They all wanted to finally leave Brunswick, before the city made any more attempts at keeping them in.  


	4. Dream Chapter 4...

City of Slow Dreams: Chapter 4 (by Elliot Bowers)

     They left the apartment at 1300, going out of the building and out onto the sidewalk—into bright afternoon daylight.  The Cloaked Man—resplendid in ironed slacks, tee shirt and cape—wanted to be dramatic and leave at 1800, going through the west gate and riding into the sunset.  But Alia thought it best to leave while there was still light in the sky—during Brunswick's business hours.  That way, most people of the city would be too busy working and handling other business; there would be lowered chance of random violent encounters with the city's randomly angry citizens.  Alia used that very phrase, _randomly angry citizens.  _

     Slender and feminine Van—also in pressed clothes—mounted her nuke bike as Alia watched her movements, quite carefully.  All _should be well with Van; autorepairs should have recalibrated her mobility systems after the A.I. module was repaired.  Yet, Alia wanted to be sure of Van's status; Van was fresh from having her crystal-matrix mind repaired. _

     "Alia, I didn't know you had homosexual tendencies," said The Cloaked Man, standing by his own vehicle.  "You must think Van is pretty cute, looking at her the way you do.  Too bad it can't come to anything, us not being able to enjoy sex and all."

     Van looked at Alia, a look of shock and embarrassment.  She did not realize that she was being honestly admired.  Admiration was it; it was a compliment to be looked at by Alia.  

     _No!  Alia, in turn, looked at The Cloaked Man.  "Incorrect, that assumption.  I acted to ascertain her well-being—visual diagnostics of her mobility systems. Van was repaired yesterday; immediate perusal becomes necessity."  As Alia said this, her pert synthetic face showed anger.     _

     But to The Cloaked Man, the look on Alia's cute face just looked like a pout—a little metal-bodied doll-girl looking angry.  Sure, the Cloaked Man believed Alia, her just inspecting Van's mobility by sight; he just wanted to see her angry.  Alia was just so darned _cute when she was angry!  So he goaded her a bit more.  _

     "Perusal?  Diagnostics?  Su-u-ure, Alia!  And passers-by can inspect 

Van's—uh—_mobility __systems, too."  He winked.  "I'm sure there are plenty of real-bodied people wanting to inspect Van in bed, too."_

     With a denying shake of her pale-blonde head, Alia turned to her own customized nuke bike.  She then put her hands on the handlebars, and gripped.  The nuke bike's electronics systems recognized Alia's faint electromechanical emanations, then started the electric repulsor engine—the engine staring up with its trademark roar.  She angrily revved the engine a few times more.

     Van started her vehicle's engine as well.  The Cloaked Man, still smiling,  mounted up and started his.  Three mounted nuke bikes in a line, all started.  The Cloaked Man, his cape unfurled, was up front.  Van was in the middle, looking comfortable on her nuke bike.  Alia was at the rear, her previous anger gone as the journey was finally started.  The madman up front organized this party; he would lead.

     The Cloaked Man revved his engine, thinking on the direction to take.  He knew the way to the City of Slow Dreams, had a very vague idea as to which direction to go.  Where to go?  North.  North was the general direction to take.  They would have to leave through one of the two gates of the city's border-wall.  Since this journey was guided by whims for senses of direction by The Cloaked Man, he would choose the direction by whim.

     He spoke just loud enough that he could be heard over the idling repulsor engines.  Head turned to the left, he addressed his other party members.  "I suppose we could quit this crazy city by going through the east gate.  I came in that way some time ago, so let's leave through there.  Less dramatic than going through the west gate, but the roads are better." 

     He then looked forward, down this typical Brunswick street:  short buildings left and right.  Ah, but more distant and wider roads await him and his party.  He gave a twist to the accelerator, and the extremely tough rear tire squealed before taking more full purchase—sending The Cloaked Man rocketing away.  Van just followed suite, with less squeal of tire.  Alia was more prudent and accelerated just enough to allow a minimum of tire-squeal.

     They jetted through Brunswick's streets, buildings and people being blurringly passed.  People walking along the sidewalk gave looks to those three non-Ganglanders on nuke bikes, racing at demonic speed.  It was a demonic speed, going just over seventy miles per hour on city streets.  

     Among the crowd were e-cops and Ganglanders.  The gigantic e-cops passed also looked at those racing through the city's streets.  Neither of those two factions in society—neither the Ganglanders nor the e-cops—would stop the party of three from leaving this city.  The Cloaked Man, up front, would not let his party stop now.  This was traveling at escape velocity.

     Just under an hour of riding through city streets, they came to the city limits—then to the east gate.  And had to put on hard brakes to a stop, rubberoid tires smoking and screaming on the asphalt.  If they did not stop, they would have smacked into the closed metal gate, high speed. 

     With nuke bikes beginning to cool, the three looked at the tall and thick wall that was closed.  The gate sealed off the road, _blocking and __trapping and __constraining the three.  There was no way around;  that wall over there went all around the city.  Absolutely all around.  Now, all three were angry.  _

     Just maybe, The Cloaked Man was angriest.  He squinted, and his mouth opened.  Shouted, "_Who in tarnation closed the gate?__  Sure as heck better not be bureaucrats!"  From his shout, there was an echo off the long tall wall.  He un-squinted his eyes, then bothered to look at the two windows set in the thick wall before them—windows set at the sides of the retracting gate.  "Yo, inside!  I __know you e-cops are in there.  Now tell me why the heck you're keeping us in?"_

     A light female voice spoke from the right window, echoing from the open window set in the wall: soft-speaking, gentle and young.  "What have you?  Do you desire to chasing ghosts?  Or scavenging antiques?  Seeking more of the likes of that little blonde one you have?  Ha ha, not an immensely good idea, Cloaked Man."  Surprisingly, it was Alia's voice coming from that window.  

     And yet Alia was there with The Cloaked Man.  He gave a look to her, and her eyes showed no trickery, only sudden concern.  The Cloaked Man thought this was creepy.  Why was Alia's voice coming from inside the window set in the wall?  

     Alia shouted to be heard by who or what used her own voice.  "We cannot chase ghosts, chase forgotten dreams.  Yet, we can chase a dream's vision!  Its ideals!  It surpasses chasing money and political power in Brunswick.  You may view us as foolish; I do the same to you!  You using my own voice—for mockery."   

     "What, antique, you want to travel the plains too?" continued Alia's voice from the wall.  "Pretty little things like you would be broken out there.  Who can predict and tell, maybe some mutants, roving madmen, or War machines will sense you.  Then smash your pretty little metal body into parts.  Then, when enough damage is done, your brain would finally die.  The peace of death, the final peace."

     A voice from the other window, the left window, spoke:  a low male voice.  "And Cloaked Man, what the heck about you, huh?  You _really want to go out there with just two groupies?  Risking your synthetically enhanced life?  For what, a dream?  Arguing and all that?  _

     "This is not good, Cloaked Man!  You're not going to get anywhere doing that!  Tell you what: Go home, buy yourself some oatmeal and plenty more damned good coffee.  Then take a nap and invite some people over—every day.  You'd never have to consider doing crazy shit again."

     The Cloaked Man himself shouted in response to his voice.  "_Crazy shit?'  Is __that what you think this is?  Sure, it's not totally sane business.  But it's __business.  It's something to do besides staying in this whacked and tired city."_

     The voice spoke again from the left window, still using The Cloaked Man's voice.  "What about the rest of you two?  You want to leave with that freaky joker?  Probably drive you nuts with his gibberish and all that.  But if that's what you want, I suppose you're welcome to hang with him.  Heh, heh, heh…"

     Alia spoke up, slightly annoyed at this play.  With her infrared vision and artificial hearing, she was able to ascertain who imitated their voices.  "You question the obvious.  Just perhaps, _you yourself can puzzle out the answer?  Do so, and be sure to open the gates.  We expect compliance of you, Officer Marphie."  _

     That was when the wielder of the copied voices, the one behind the left window, quit.  In his own voice, Officer Marphie shouted, "Damn, how'd you know!"  Silence, then he laughed…  "Heh, heh.  You've got a pretty good ear, kid!  And a good memory.  Recognizing artifacts of my voice print and all.  You deserve a nice bottle of motor oil for your joints.  

     "But seriously, I tried to convince you against leaving.  Especially you, little metal-bodied girl.  You, Alia, first came to Brunswick, weakened and lost.  The plains did that to you, weakened you.  And you had nowhere else to go.  So you came to Brunswick.  Guess you want to return to that situation.  Guess you want to leave.  And I'll let you.

     "Just don't hate me for it or anything.  What I did, it's all part of policy when people talk about leaving Brunswick.  Traveling the plains.  We e-cops, enforcement officers, try to keep you from doing dangerous things like leaving the city, try to convince you away from that.  This must be one of those times where we can't, though…"  

     After moments of silence, there was then the sound of machinery from inside the wall.   The tensor-reinforced gating parted.  Now again, the road out was open.  A very long road.  

     Alia suspected as much; it was Officer Marphie himself who tried to convince them away from leaving Brunswick.  Strange, since Brunswick had such an annoying procedure for bringing in citizens.  Now, Brunswick had a procedure for letting people out. 

     Then, after a minute's waiting, the immense gating was finally fully open.  That revealed a long highway out into the sunlit plains.  Somewhere, there should be a left fork in the road—to go north.  The three revved their nuke bikes' engines, then motored out onto that highway.  They left the City of Brunswick.

     In the light of the yellow afternoon sun, three mounted nuke bikes roared out and away from the east gate of the vast and immense city on these plains.  Their engines could be heard from miles away, echoing and thrumming sounds of motors out on these otherwise quiet plains.  With so much speedy confidence, the trio of riders moved quite quickly along the vast stretch, going away from the lone city on these plains—to ride the somewhat cracked highways.    

     In speeding so, the three left the city further and further behind with passing minutes—despite whatever feelings of regret they felt.  For Alia, those feelings were ones of unsureness.  The city was almost all that she could really and truly remember of her life since awakening on the plains.  All else in her past seemed faded.  

     Now, she was again on these lonely vast stretches.  Out in the immense green lands where there was almost nothing but vast green land, blue sky above and a road.  From the smallest of the three in this riding group, this feeling made for the most consternation—for her alone.  She would not speak aloud of her fear.

     But Alia was not alone this time, riding along with two other people.  This time, she had much more than she had before.  When she first staggered into Brunswick, she had nothing but her metal body and intensely fogged memories.  Even then, she had less than that; faceless, she was not even considered a being.  

     Now she had so much more: a face, some friends, and—above all—a _purpose.  Without purpose, without a quest, she would have just been a piece of junk on the streets of Brunswick.  Junk, to be eventually sold when her brain finally rotted…_

     Her reverie of contemplation was interrupted.  "_Oh, yeah!" shouted The Cloaked Man, loud above the three engines.  Alia and Van looked, seeing the cape fluttering at his back and his left hand raised__.  "Okay folks, there's a northward turn coming up.  I have a real feeling that that's where we go.  So slow up and follow me."  _

     They slowed and followed The Cloaked Man into a long banking turn that went left, easing up on the accelerator and leaning into the turn.   When they hit the straight highway at the end of the turn, they straightened up and sped up again.  A bit more cracked and bumpy in places, this was a slightly rougher stretch of pavement.  Despite the slightly tougher going, the three were silently thankful; they felt lucky that there was still pavement out here after all.  They were inexperienced nuke bike riders and were not quite comfortable with off-road riding:  Luckily, there was a road going north at all.     

     With that turn taken, The Cloaked Man had thoughts on this long route.  It was that whim again that made him take that turn.  That whim was a guiding force, a subconscious guiding force that made him do things.  He did not quite question _why they had to go  north.  He just __knew that they were supposed to go north.  And just now, he __knew they had to take that left turn—knew by feeling.  _

     The Cloaked Man thought, _Can a robot ever have emotional hunches?  Did a humanoid robot have real feelings at all?  All of this time, The Cloaked Man just saw Van as a kind of appliance-turned-person.  If she was damaged, they could just let her lie overnight and let her body's autorepairing flow of microscopic nanobots fix her.  If too broken for autorepairs, they could just buy parts for her.     _

     No, not that: they were traveling now.  Who knew when they would hit the next settlement?  Or another city?  There are _no machinists' shops out on the plains, no readily available shops for any goods!  The Cloaked Man would have to go through the trouble of apporting anything they needed, like spare components for their nuke bikes or themselves—should autorepairs ever fail._

     Van was like that: something to be fixed when broken.  She may have simulated feelings and all, may look beautifully human, but she's just a robot.  From there, The Cloaked Man thought of Van and her worth as a person s they rode on into the dying day.  Him thinking prolonged thoughts.  

     Night soon came over the wide green-grass land.  Out here, away from the glaringly bright halogen-arc lights of the city, the sky was a clear dark spattered with clouds and twinkling with spotting stars.  The moon was near the horizon.  Other than the stars above and moon at the side, their nuke bikes' headlights were the only lights.

     They had ridden for an hour now, into the night.  Alia felt her brain growing tired.  She would have to sleep for four or five hours.  Otherwise, she would fall off her vehicle and possibly ruin her newly refurbished head.  And it could take hours more for her nuke bike to repair itself.  But then…

     _Squeak!  That was the sound of both tires making slight skidding sounds; Alia had corrected at the very last moment after she dozed off!  She heard Van speak up, speaking above engine sounds.  "__Alia, are you okay?"_

     "_My brain grows tired.  I need sleep," answered Alia, feeling her brain's exhaustion pulling down on her.  "__If I do not rest soon, I will not fall asleep by choice."   That is, she would fall asleep, anyway._

     The Cloaked Man spoke up.  "_You tired, too? Dang, I thought it was just me!  Okay, let's just pull over and sleep.  Anywhere, I suppose…"  After saying this, he did slow and pull to the left side of the road—anywhere._

     They all pulled over now.  Engine roar went down to a lower tone as they pulled over to the left.  Alia spoke up, not having to shout over louder engines.  "Let us rest twenty yards from the roadway; I would feel uncomfortably vulnerablerable resting so close to such an easily accessible area," she said.  

     It was a good suggestion, resting away from a too-obvious area where anyone or anything could come by and attack.  Idea taken, they moved themselves away from the highway, walking the nuke bikes.  They turned on the headlights, lighting the way forward. 

     Alia found a decent resting place for them, a deep grassy depression.  They could set camp here.  Nuke bikes laid on the sides, placed in a triangular way, they had a sort of defined camping space.  Van had an odd comment about there being no cozy campfire, or campfire songs to sing.  The Cloaked Man and Alia just gave her odd looks.  Why set anything afire out here?  What was there to burn for a fire, anyway?  

     There could possibly be things to burn out here for a "camp" fire.  Possibly, there were forests out here.  But likely, they would not hit any of those "woodlands" or "forests" of legend for dozens of miles—if ever.  But that was tomorrow.  Tonight was rest-time.   

     They laid their synthetic bodies down on soft grass in the grassy depression in the earth, a bike-bordered triangular area.  Each had their own particular space to sleep.  Alia looked upward, looked at the somewhat cloudy night sky, then let the warm and dark comfort of sleep take her brain, finally.  

     And she woke up, wet with rainwater, to the sound of a _crack-boom explosion, quick-followed by a scream.  That was Van's scream.  Alia's synth-flesh eyelids snapped open.  Then she snapped to stand up, quickly on her metal bootlets.  Her ceramic eyes switched over to a hybrid visual-infrared sight to see better, and she was able to see Van.  Damaged and fallen Van, her wet-clothed body sprawled on the grass._

     She must have been struck down by something in the night.  What happened?  Who would know?    

     The Cloaked Man, where was he?  Where could he have gone?  Alia put her silvery hands to her realistic face, cupping her mouth to shout, "_Cloaked Man!  Cloaked Man!  Van is down!" She listened for a response.  One more try…  "__Cloaked Man!"_

     "_Oh, my head!" came the loud and groaning reply from behind.  Alia turned.  She saw The Cloaked Man come stepping drunkenly toward her.  His right hand was on his chest, and his left hand was on the side of his wet-haired head.  "I'm feeling __hurt!  The components in my chest started to act freaky, and I don't think my brain was getting enough oxygen and nutrients for a while.  Feeling shaky all over.  Damn, I felt like I was struck by lightning!"_

     That could explain the explosion she felt and heard, the one waking her up.  "We were.  That loud sound, it marked a lightning strike."  She looked back at Van.  "Van must have suffered the worst."

     "_Dang!"  said The Cloaked Man, perhaps too loudly.  "Maybe we should have slept with the nuke bikes parked standing up?  You know how it would work:  lightning being attracted to taller objects and all.  That would have been better than being blasted by electricity…" He looked at Van, sprawled.  "Would have been better for Van, too."_

     Alia suddenly thought, _What ails my thinking?  Van needs help! She scrambled over to the fallen gynoid.  Kneeling by Van, Alia wriggled her metal fingers in the air—flicking water from silvery fingertips.  She then set those fingertips to Van's forehead.    _

     Now for diagnostics.  Reading information through fingertips, Alia's visual systems began displaying basic information on Van's hardware—transmitted information coming through Alia's titanium fingertips.  Mobility systems were fine, status still in green-light condition.  Her energy systems were in a vaguely yellow condition from the electrical burst, still in operating order.  The A.I. module, though, was in red condition and not autorepairing.  Something was critically wrong. 

     That was because Van probably had no reboot module—very tiny, very compact, and very expensive backups of an A.I.'s operating subsystems.  It was a dime-sized and 

gem-shaped greenish crystal.  Her owner, Steve, must have removed it—probably to sell it.    

     The result, Van's personality was erased by lightning—and with nothing to re-start her thought processors.  Alia lifted her fingers from Van's forehead.  "Her personality was spited," she said aloud, then looked up at The Cloaked Man.  In her infrared-enhanced sight, she saw a surprisingly serious look come to The Cloaked Man's face.  "She is shut down, unless we can get a reboot module."

     The Cloaked Man squinted at Alia.  He took steps closer.  With that severe look in his eyes, he said.  "Did you say, 'reboot module'?  Specifically, _that part?" _

     She nodded once.  "With certainty.  A reboot module.  It has the look of a faintly greened diamond, very small."

     "Does it have to be an _exact sort of thing?  Exactly what would fit in Van?" asked The Cloaked Man, very carefully.  He had something in mind…_

     Alia thought some seconds.  "No.  Exactness is not quite an issue.  Reboot crystals are generally made the same standard size—generally 2.75-centimeter radii and 

5.5-centimeter height.  Do tell me why you inquire so."

     The Cloaked Man sighed, then reached into his left pocket.  As he did this, his cape gave slight crackling sounds.  He was apporting something sophisticated.  Then, he pulled out what he apported:  a small greenish crystal.

     He held up the crystal, held it grasped between thumb and forefinger.  "Alia," he began, "I want you to listen to me on this one.  See this?"  He wriggled the crystal slightly.  "It's an apported copy of a crystal matrix, one that I never had the confidence to install.  I had techies custom-make the compressed personality in this crystal matrix.  They made it from data extracted from my own brain.  Mad from memories of my last girlfriend, conjured from a straight-up brain hookup.  I'm talking, like, _cerebrum."_

     "_Uh?" she gasped.  That sounded very dangerous. Connecting a human's spinal cord was commonplace technology, necessary for body replacement surgery.  But to connect directly to a person's cerebrum was trouble.  _

     The Cloaked Man could have become a brain-dead vegetable if such a procedure was done wrong—if at all.  "You risked the death of your brain—to copy memories?" she asked.  "Merely memories?  Raw data?  Tell more to reveal."  Alia suspected something else, but did not say aloud.  She wanted The Cloaked Man to say more, to reveal exactly.

     "What I mean, my girlfriend's personality is in this crystal," he said.  "Not her identity.  Because she's dead.  I never wanted _her copied into a crystal matrix.  That would be wrong.  She's dead and that is that."  _

     Alia looked down at the grass, seeing it through a grayish-red gloom.  She was not quite sure if she wanted to hear about this.  But she would listen, anyway. 

     The Cloaked Man spoke on.  "My girlfriend, she was beautiful.  I loved her.  One day, two or so jerks—some pre-teens wanting to be Ganglanders—bought some refurbished burst guns War antiques.  

     "They somehow snuck their way into her house.  Then they blasted her, bullets into her body.  But that was thirty years ago.  All of that is in the breeze now.  Not that I should whine over her anymore.  Because I don't.  Look, do you want to hear more of the sob story, or are you going to use this thing?" 

     Alia looked at him, her face grim.  He held out the small gem.  She took it carefully between her gray fingers.  "With this, I'll need a repair kit.  At least with electronics tools," she said.  

     Then The Cloaked Man reached into his left pocket.  No cape-crackling this time.  He pulled out a long and slim toolkit, one that wasn't in his pocket before.  He gave that to Alia.  "Use it in good health, kid," he said, his commonplace mirth somehow restored—perhaps too quickly, Alia thought.  If she lost someone she loved and had the 

personality-preserving crystal being handled, she would have acted with more reverence. 

     But The Cloaked Man was his own person, odd as it is.  Then, the sky began to lighten as Alia began to do this work.  She opened the slender toolkit, selecting a pen-sized tensor knife.  With the knife, she cut and peeled away the swath of pale skin over Van's forehead—like done two days ago.  And like those days ago, she unscrewed a part of the metal skull beneath, exposing the circuitry of Van's computer-brain.    

     Alia mentally spited herself.  _Why did I fail to note what was missing before?  Now that she perused the circuitry in Van's forehead, she specifically saw a certain empty socket—where Van's reboot module was supposed to be_

     It was a circular place where a tensor field would hold it in place.  Alia put the gem of a component inside that place, in Van's head.  It fit in and was held there by a minute tensor field.  Circuits connected.  And the small crystal was now installed within Van.  

     The rest was closing-up work: putting the section of metal-skull back, re-screwing it to seal the head, then flawlessly re-sealing the synth skin with dabs of nanobot-containing liquid.  That was surgery on a gynoid: no blood, no scars and no pain.

     After that, there was nothing to do but put away the tools and wait.  Alia put the tools back in the long and thin toolkit, then handed it back to The Cloaked Man.  He, in turn, returned the toolkit to his left pocket, where the apporter field in the pocket returned it to wherever it came from.

     Alia then sat down on the grass, legs folded under her.  Waiting for Van's autorepair systems to take to the newly installed reboot module.  Passing the time by looking up at the slightly lightening sky as the morning sun was coming.  

     To wait, The Cloaked Man stood, then checked his pants for grass stains and such.  Their clothes were supposed to be treated with catalysts that repelled dirt.  But he was just checking, even if it was hard to tell in this gloom.

      The Cloaked Man then flopped down on the grass, next to where Alia sat by Van's reclining form.  "Isn't it pretty sad and annoying how Van's the weakest of our party?  Travelers have all sorts of stories about what's outside of the cities, and we haven't even faced any out-of-city problems yet.  And look, Van's been beat, _twice!"_

     Alia turned her head right, to look at The Cloaked Man.  "Hey, I'm listening to you!"   Alia's dark eyes widened, her small mouth making an _o of surprise.  __She didn't say that.  "Calling me the weakest, the __nerve of you!  Jerk…" _

     Both Alia and The Cloaked Man looked down at the refurbished gynoid.  Alia's procedure worked.  Now Van's eyes were open to the pre-dawn sky.  She looked right, at the two sitting by her side, a small smile on her face.  She then spoke again, "Yeah, I listened!  And why are we all lying and sitting around?  Is this supposed to be my funeral?  If so, aren't you supposed to put me _in the dirt, not on it?"  _

     And she sat up, her slender sleeved arms crossed across her small bosom, giving a toss of her dark-haired head.  A carefree sparkle in her dark eyes. 

     The Cloaked Man leaned forward, his face close to Van's.  "Yeah, you're acting like Aura!  Just as confident.  And, just as bitchy!"  He smirked.  "I like bitchy.  The personality is back!"

     Alia looked at The Cloaked Man.  "Indeed.  Personality—not identity.  Van remains with a simulated sense of her own self; that sense remains Van, not that of your deceased mate."

     Van gave a leer to Alia.  "No shit, Nancy Drew!  If your powers of observation were any better, I'd have to take you seriously, wouldn't I?"  In response to her remarks, Van saw Alia's lips turn down slightly.  "Aw, did I hurt your feelings, little blonde cyborg-girl?"

    Alia's synthetic face had real anger on it.  "No!  Cease ridicule!  My body's appearance is not by choice of myself!"  Then, with quieter sarcasm, she spoke on.  "Do forgive me for not being taller and not having a more mature look of femininity.  For not having a more mature synthetic face.  Perhaps, some day, I can get a replacement body, and…"

     "And you can grow up!  Get some bigger metal tits and wider titanium ass!" said Van, her voice ready to laugh.  Alia's face showed more anger.  The refurbished gynoid then put an elegant-fingered hand to Alia's pale forehead, being glared at all the while.  "Meanwhile, better be careful, little metal-bodied girl!  The sun's coming up, and that living brain of yours could overheat or something."  Pulling away her hand and screwing her face, she added, "Ew, just thinking of that is nasty!  Baked human brains.  Gosh, human brains can be nasty stuff.  They're mushy and get rotten really easily.  Too bad your brain isn't made of microchips and crystals."

     "Watch it, Van!" exclaimed The Cloaked Man.  "I resemble that remark!  My brain is still human, too!  Gray mush and all."  He stared at the gynoid, seeing her mirthful stare back.

     "I won't hold that against your worth, though," said Van.  "Because you're cool.  And Alia's not," said the fully synthetic female.  "Not only is her brain living mush, despite her cool metal appearance from the neck down, but her speech is also un-cool.  Ever notice how she talks really creepy?  Ugh, she's cramping my style."

     Alia turned around, quite angry—but quietly so.  She pivoted to sit facing away from Van.  "Such is thanks given for help.  To revive a truism of times past, note that _no good deed goes unpunished."  She pulled her armored knees to her solid chest.  "Punishment from allies, indeed."_

     Van reached for Alia, stroking the metal-type cyborg's silky pale hair. "Aw, Alia, don't be that way.  You're too cute to be mad all the time….  You remind me of something once downloaded into my memory.  A cute elf, or something.  Yet, my data never told me that elves became really angry.  Will you be angry with me, little elf?"  

     Alia held her hands away from her knees, then clenched them—one finger at time.  Then unclenched them.  Then clenched again, methodically and rhythmically.  That made for the sound of machine-metal clicking as her hard fingertips clicked to her equally metal palms.  Now Van threatened to ridicule her genetic heritage.

     Alia heard The Cloaked Man next.  "Damn, didn't remember my girlfriend's personality being _this bitchy.  Aura was just bitchy enough.  Used to tell me that I was the same way.  But I __can't be __that annoying, can I?" muttered The Cloaked Man.  _

     To think, that his girlfriend had a personality somewhat like that.  He remembered Aura as being perky and pert, not pesky and bitchy.  He _loved his girlfriend.  Now, the personality traits were in someone else.  That made for peskiness and bitchiness. _

     But it was _not Aura.  It was __not her.  It was an __it; __it was Van there.  Alia said that Van just needed a reboot module.  Which brought about this change in Van.  Maybe, Van was more likable when she was more contrite and humble.  He thought about trying to apport a waitress' outfit. _

      "Hello, Cloak!  Remember us?  We're your other two party members?  Where's your mind at now?"  Van interrupted The Cloaked Man's emotional rumination.  "You look, like…  Dazed!  Couldn't believe it.  Like you turned epileptic, or something.  One of those human maladies, you know?"

    Alia stood and walked some yards away.  She faced the oncoming sunlight of the new day, her eyes adjusting to the new glare.  Still, she squinted away from the light and looked down.  Speaking just above a whisper, she said, "_At least, the revision of your behavior lacks permanence."_

     Van, still over by The Cloaked Man, spoke up.  "What's that, Little Miss Mumbles?  I didn't really _hear what you said.  My hearing is damned good, but not good enough to hear what you jumble-mumbled."_

     Alia turned from the sun.  She addressed The Cloaked Man.  "As I said, Van's behavior will not at all last.  That which was installed, it re-started her personality emulation.  But, the unit does not _become her personality.  Give days or perhaps weeks, depending on the speed of Van's processors, and Van returns to herself."_

     Van then turned to The Cloaked Man, looking.  "That can't be true, can it?  I'm not going to keep my new personality?"  She took a step closer to The Cloaked Man, close inquiry.  "It isn't perfectly mine?"

     The Cloaked Man gave a shrug.  "Not really yours to begin with, honey!  Right, right?  You shouldn't have what wasn't really yours to begin with."  He smiled.  "This business is seeming to get pretty weird, though: seeing my dead girlfriend's mutated personality in you."

     Van's large dark eyes went wider.  "Oh, _shit!  What the __Hell?"  She backed away from The Cloaked Man, then fell onto her slacks-covered butt.  Then, carefully, she stood again._

     The Cloaked Man still smiled, face brightening with the brightening sunlight of this coming day.  "Yeah, Van, _feel the power of my ranting!  My words have that effect on people, don't they?  I can rant and rave with the most solid people.  My whacked out wording squirms and jiggles in their brains, and they feel themselves go mad."         _

     Van squinted, then shook her head twice—an emphatic and unsaid _no, no!  "You freak, will you just __turn __around?  See if your words can deal with __that!"  And Van, to some satisfaction, saw The Cloaked Man turn around.  _

     He turned around.  His arms went rigid at his sides.  And his brown eyes had a lot more white showing as his eyelids were open so far.  "O-o-oh, _shit!"  He did not have sense of mind enough to tell Alia to turn around as well._

     Something very big and very heavy just dug its way out of the grassy sod of the plains, smashing up and out into the day.  It was something man-shaped: nine feet tall, metal all over, and with a machine-body almost as wide as it was tall—a body still covered with dirt.  The arms were pole-thick: right arm with a cylindrical hammer at the end, the left arm ending in a thick tube made up of smaller tubes.  That would be a multi-fire burst gun, spinning barrels of automatic fire. 

     The massive thing looked like a demonic cross between a troll's suit of armor and a medium tank.  With immense stomping steps, was coming right at the three, them standing still and by their nuke bikes.  Even better, those three targets made no moves to evade: easier on the age-worn targeting systems. 

     "That MBD will crush the nuke bikes!" shouted Alia.  "A day to wait for autorepairs to fix them, at least!  Move to evade!"  She moved over to Van and The Cloaked Man.  Then had to lightly slap them to get them out of their surprised shocks.  "We move!  Surround and engage it!" 

      MBD—Military Battle Droid.  An antique from the War.  Still functional beyond a century of being buried. 

     With quick and long strides, The Cloaked Man ran to the right of the nine-foot beast of a machine—his red cape fluttering as he moved so.  Van positioned herself as so she was to the back and left of it.  Alia, the small metal-bodied cyborg, stood as so she was just a mere yard from the thing.  Nine feet to her four feet, the MBD was over twice her height.

     Van saw where Alia positioned herself:  right in front.  "Are you _psycho, you elf-faced little cyborg?  It'll crush you!"  Not that Van liked Alia too much now, but she didn't want to see the cute little thing get squashed!  __Warm soft brains oozing out from cracks in a flattened metal skull…  Ew!  "For goodness sake, Alia, get the heck out of the way and help us beat it from behind!"_

     Not at all listening, the gigantic MBD attacked first.  Motors in its immense right shoulder made noises as it raised its right hammer-fist.  With an air-tearing _whoosh sound, it brought the hammer __down at the diminutive target.  The smashing __blow shook the ground, a spray of dirt where Alia stood.  Van shrieked. _

     But Alia was no longer where she stood; she had dashed to the right.  Positioning herself next to the MBD's gun-arm.  She leapt up, then kicked with her left armor-bootlet.  Her kick struck the barrel of the multi-fire burst gun installed onto the MBD's right  "hand." 

     It pulled its massive hammer-fist out of the soil where it had been pounded into the earth, another spray of sod.  Immediately after doing that, it pointed the gun-fist at Alia.  Whirring sounds came from inside the weapon as it powered up.  

     The Cloaked Man did a long step forward while the immense MBD took aim at Alia. The tall man in cape clenched his fists, and there were slight sounds of crackling static electricity.  Then, using those fists, he struck the thing in the back twice—bright blue flashes coming with each punch.

     Hit by fist-sized static electrical bursts, the MBD shuddered for a quarter-second—throwing off its aim.  With its waist as a pivot, the upper body then turned completely around.  The MBD now faced the opponents positioned behind it.  Facing Van and The Cloaked Man.   

     "Damn, my cape's capacitors are gonna take _seconds to charge after that!" he said.  Anger was in his voice.  Anger, because that damn monster machine was going to open up on them with gunfire from that spinning automatic gun mounted on its right arm.  _

     With the thing facing those two fellow two party members over there, Alia struck with two straight alloy-fisted punches, then a leaping side-kick.  All three of her blows went for the thing's circular waist.  And all three attacks had desired effects.

     The circular joints in the MBD were especially vulnerable in that they were not maintained for some time.  Being so long in the soil, that was not good for a massive machine.  Big machines require more maintenance, and it did not get any.  Combined with the static bursts from The Cloaked Man's fists, its mobility systems did not take too well to that.

     But facing The Cloaked Man, it still had its circular gun aimed.  The machine gun began to spin…but made just grinding sounds.  Those were awful _ch-ch-ch-chunk sounds of broken parts moving as the thing tried to fire the gun-hand—which Alia had damaged as well.  _

     Detecting that it could not fire its right weapon, it tried to raise its right hammer-fist.  It could not.  It could not bring its hammer fist above its waist—body shuddering.  That must have been damage done by The Cloaked Man's static-based attacks.  Alia stared, amused.  

     It then rotated its upper body right.  Doing so, its still-extended hammer-fist smacked_ Alia.  With a quick shriek, she was flopped onto her back—hitting the grassy ground.  She then struggled to stand again, trying._

     "_That's it!  You're a done deal!" shouted The Cloaked Man, his cape now crackling with a better charge.  He extended both his large fists before himself, crackling sounds in the air.  There were dangerous sounds of snapping and sharp electricity coming from his direction, jags of blue dancing all about his upper arms and fists.  Then, the lightning came. _

     For several seconds, a loud shower of lightning flared and arced between The Cloaked Man's arms and the immense Military Battle Droid.  Cracking and popping sounds coming from within the thing.  There was a loud _pop as something inside the MBD gave away, and the metal beast began to kneel—and smoke.  _

     And there it remained.  Kneeling and not moving.  The three that attacked it remained where they were, waiting.  In the now-morning light, the defeated MBD did not at all move.  This made for a good time to leave.

     The Cloaked Man went to Alia, lifting her by the shoulders to help her stand.  She accepted the help, thanked him with a nod.  "My mobility systems took a swaying hit, nothing immense," she said.  "Autorepairs recalibrated, so I can walk."   

     He looked at the immense thing they fought.  "Well, Alia, I suppose you aren't the only military-grade antique still functioning.  Did you call that thing over there an MBD?  What does that mean?  And how did you know what to call it, anyway?"

     Alia looked away.  "I know what to call it because of what my faulted memory told me.  The identification came out of memory.  I identified the threat on whim, Cloaked Man, not from solid memory.  

     "Perhaps, if I were not faulted, I would have been able to help eliminate the threat more effectively.  My brain is not in flawless condition."  She looked at him, her synthetic face looking lost.  "Memories of the War should have helped.  Should have."

     Van came close to Alia, looking down at her.  "Didn't know you were—handicapped, Alia.  Guess I'd better watch what I say.  It's not nice picking on humans like you.  I'm sorry." 

     Alia thought on that.  She saw herself as faulted, but not quite _handicapped.    Her memories of now worked quite fine, no gaps.  But it was memories of a life past that gave her troubles.  Decades of stasis must have clouded those recollections._

     "You know, ladies, I'd like for us to chat and do introspection, I think it be best if we moved on.  Being in one place for too long is a bit dangerous," said The Cloaked Man.  "Hitting the road again.  At least we got some sleep.  Regardless of the cost: struck by lightning and being attacked by some buried and should-have-been-broken War antique."

     Alia affirmed the idea; she went over to her nuke bike, set it upright from its side-leaning position.  Beating the MBD where it stood, it did not get too close to her ride.  Now she sat atop her machine and put hands to the handlebars.  It started.  

     The other two started their vehicles—then motored them out to the highway.  The Cloaked Man knew the way.  North was the way, of course.  And with a rumbling of repulsor engines, they headed onward to wherever the road led.  Riding, The Cloaked Man suspected that they would face another city soon.  That suspicion was right.  


	5. Dream Chapter 5...

City of Slow Dreams—Chapter 5 (by Elliot Bowers) 

They rode, continuing on.Their engines rumbling, the three saw the day lightening over the grass and the road.It was full morning very soon, and the sun lit the land at an angle.That made for very long shadows.Something to be thankful for this morning was how they remained together after their recent troubles, especially the recent ones. 

The Cloaked Man, speeding up front, leading the way on a general whim—that guiding feeling.Van in the middle, glad to be here and away from the city.Alia rode at the back, thinking.Lost in her own thought.Very quieted after that encounter with a massive antique. 

The Cloaked Man also had thoughts on what passed.A War antique, damned in that it was so damned lively one, in The Cloaked Man's opinion.Not that The Cloaked Man had anything against War antiques; one of his best friends—Alia—was a War antique.He didn't hate her, not really.She was a creepy little girl-cyborg, but she was still a good buddy.What if _he_ was a War antique, but didn't remember it?Alia had problems remembering her War-era past; what if he was an antique, and forgot about it?_Nah…_

Alia's titanium fingers gave a deeper twist to her nuke bike's accelerator, and she accelerated—speeding to ride beside The Cloaked Man.She readied to shout above engine rumble."_I see a massive temperature signature.Urban in size._" 

The Cloaked Man shouted back, "'_Urban'?What, you mean we've headed back to Brunswick? And I didn't know it?Shoot, and I thought we were going north all this time!_"He looked back at Van."_Van, I thought we were going north!_" 

Alia was not sure if The Cloaked Man was being his normally silly and irreverent self, or was being serious.His thinking was always in questionable balance.Anyway…"_No,_" she said, "_the heat signature on the northern horizon differs from Brunswick.More massive and direct electromagnetic radiation outside of the visual spectrum._" 

The Cloaked Man smirked, then shouted back, "_So we're not going back to Brunswick?We're headed for a radiation-soaked Hell-hole?Damned Hell holes!They're all over.Now we're headed for one.That's what we get for trying to roam the plains like some freaking adventurers out of travelers tales._" 

"_Urban, I said.The place on the horizon is yet another city—one apart from Brunswick!_" shouted Alia."_But if you have doubt, just ride on!_"Indeed, the heat signature Alia saw was in the general direction of where they headed, anyway.Likely, the road they rode now intersected the next city.If not, then where did this road go anyway? 

Alia thought of that, thought of where the road could go.Whenever she switched to infrared sight, she could see the large thermal inversion on the horizon—indicative of vast and flat-planed surfaces of metal or concrete.There was chance of what she saw as being something else, like the wreckage of a downed interplanetary cruiser, or a nuclear blast crater.Those could also make for large surfaces to reflect heat. 

Or, the road went in a different direction.Maybe, there was chance that the road would bypass whatever the thermal inversion really was.Then, curiosity would go unsated.They would use the highway to get through or by whatever was on the horizon and beyond visibility, then continue to ride in whatever direction The Cloaked Man felt correct. 

_Whatever_.Alia simply decided to ride by The Cloaked Man's side.If he refused to listen to her, just decided to ignore her information, she could just keep looking at the urban heat signature herself, analyzing it through her enhanced sight.The Cloaked Man would not notice or mind.If he did mind at all, then he was just being his weird self.Being as weird as that static-capacitor cape he had on his back. 

Then, The Cloaked Man looked to the right; Alia was still riding there."_Hey, you _did _see something!I see something, too!Looks like sparkles and all sorts of stuff.Glass and glitter, or something._"Indeed, just now, he really was seeing something gleam and shine far off. 

Alia's lips became just a millimeter wider with a slight smile only detectible to herself.There _was_ something on the horizon.With so much glitter far over there, in the distance, there had to be another city.Then there would be more truth to those legends and such woven by travelers.Or, the travelers did not weave those tales; encountering a city would mean that the travelers were correct. 

The travelers were more correct than Alia or Van would have believed before.Now, rumbling and roaring along on nuke bikes, they saw what had to be another city.It had more glitter than Brunswick, certainly. 

_Complacency and inevitability_, thought Alia.With a quick twist of her nuke bike's accelerator, she sped ahead at eighty miles per hour, north.She felt the accompanied increase in rumbling, feeling the vehicle's suspension react to the roughened road, but she had confidence in the vehicle's construction as she dashed along. 

Her other two party members sped, too.And they approached that place of glitter, a place that loomed larger as minutes passed.The three were quickly coming closer… 

Very soon, they came to see the city, becoming more full in size as they approached.It was a glittering and building-filled area easily over a dozen miles wide.Like Brunswick, this city seemed alone on these plains.Alone, save for the rough and almost totally untraveled road that brought them here, this city of glitter and beautiful buildings.And so, the three came to Fusion City. 

Fusion City was a glittering and beautiful city on the plains, surrounded by a tall circular wall of red brick that went all around, that surrounded by the green grass all around.But unlike Brunswick, the wall was simply open—constantly open to the highway.The three slowed when they neared this city wall. 

Alia, The Cloaked Man and Van then looked at the five-foot bronze plaque set in the wall, next to the highway, a plaque that just said, FUSION CITY.Other than that, there was no other officialdom connected with the city's entrance:no Enforcement personnel ranting declarations about citizenship procedures, no closing gates, no border posts built into the sections of wall, no tricks.They expected more, idled there and waited for something to happen. 

Glad not having to shout above engine rumble, Alia spoke."No guards or trick commentary; entrance to the city _seems_ unregulated._Seems_, I emphasize.Or, the inhabitants of this city lack care for newcomers in from the plains."To Alia, seeing border so open and free, it was a show of carelessness—or extremely open confidence.She motored ahead, was then followed by The Cloaked Man and Van. 

Beyond the wall, they were suddenly in awe at the beauty of this new city.It really looked very new, very sophisticated and very beautiful.All around, immense towers of glittering glass and smooth concrete rose, towers and blocks of modernistic beauty.The roads were very flat-paved and very beautiful.Along the sides of the road, sidewalks were slightly gray, soft pastel in tone.The sidewalks fronted the varied and clean gleaming buildings.If one had real eyes, he or she could appreciate how the sidewalks and ground-level windows did not give off harsh glares; everything at ground level was treated with polymers to prevent glaring.But even to those with ceramic-cased electronic eyes, this was probably the most beautiful urban environment the three had ever seen in memory; the city was built in simple and pleasing ways. 

And the inhabitants, the citizens?They always dressed up to go out.Van was the first to see some of those inhabitants.A group of five well-dressed people—looking very human—walked and talked down the right-side sidewalk—three color-suited men and two vaguely athletic tanned women in light dresses, all of them of uniform height.Slightly braking, Van turned right on her own accord, and the other two of her party followed.And that group of passers-by stopped to look at the newcomers on dark raucous rides. 

The citizens, in turn, looked at the three newcomers that looked at them and their city.To the citizens on the sidewalk, the three on those dark heavy motorcycles looked very new, very _original_.The tallest dressed moderately, in slacks and tee shirt, but his cape and mane of dark hair looked interesting.There was an exotic female next to him, pale skin and high cheekbones to go with her long dark hair.Most notably, Van was clothed the most normally of those three:blouse and slacks.But the third, the smallest of those three, she was sure to get massive attention!_Just look at that captivating body armor.An elfin-faced blonde girl in form-fitting armor._

The Cloaked Man's lips and cheeks stretched in leering."Hey, something up with you people?We're new here and all.We don't know your customs.But give us a chance!"They gawked on, not really heeding him."Are you listening?" 

One of the citizens talked, a tan red-haired woman in white dress."Sorry, but you're newcomers?You came in from the plains?We see your clothes and vehicles, and we have to say…Wow!" 

The Cloaked Man answered."Yes, ma'am!We rode in from the plains on these nuke bikes.Won them from Ganglanders in a duel.We crossed through the plains and survived.Even survived the attack of an antique!Hard to believe?Belief should not be hard!In fact, in truth, in reality, that is the reality!It's been the real reality we have had high and harrowing hardships…" 

Alia knew that The Cloaked Man was powering up for a semi-psychedelic and fully insane rant.She cut in, interrupting."But overall, as said, we are new arrivals.Not quite citizens.Just perhaps, your staring and ogling us is necessary."Alia turned her head to the left, looking at The Cloaked Man but still talking to that group of citizens."The staring could be part of a citizenship ritual?" 

In turning her head, the group on the sidewalk could see the junction between Alia's head and neck, where the smooth pale flesh of her pretty blonde head met the gleaming gray of her neck and body.That set the group on the sidewalk to talking.They talked about Alia. 

One of the men spoke, a brown-haired tan man in green business suit."You, with the armored suit!Yeah, you, kid!I have to say that looks like a darned good costume!Looks like a really good fit.But how'd you get your neck into it?" 

Alia faced that green-suited man."You say 'costume.'A statement with interest.However, the body you peruse is not one of costumed trickery."She brought both solidhands to her gray-metal neck, then slid fingers down to the center of her gray-metal chest, sounds of metal rasping on metal."The armor is my body—my metal body.Identify me as a metal-type cyborg—what I am." 

That took them aback for most of a second.Someone broke the silence."Okay," said the beautiful woman in white, "it's just that we've never seen one of your kind before.We thought metal-types were just legends, or something."She raised a fine finger."Wait just a minute…" The group on the sidewalk went to chattering more, gesticulating and excited.They smiled as they spoke in their huddle.Some looked back at those being talked about, then went back to talking. 

The woman in white and the rest of her group faced the three newcomers."Newbies, we'll tell you what.Come with us down to _Tad's_.A nice place to eat.We can put you through a quick citizenship ritual, then call in your new citizenship registry.Anyway, you must be hungry after that ride.You didn't even carry supplies!" 

Alia, thought, _Carry supplies?Must be hungry?They assume some of us to be human beings, in terms of being.Why-ever for?Ignorance of cyborg technology?_But she smiled at the people, showing her small porcelain-ceramic teeth.And she gave as polite an answer as possible. 

"About what you offer, madam.Such sounds significantly delightful." 

The three were taken to _Tad's,_ a first-floor restaurant set in the side of a tall gleaming building.Though people could choose to eat inside, there were plenty of umbrella-shaded white tables outside.The tables were outside, but they would just go inside anyway; tables were bigger.There was a general and gentle din throughout the place as other diners ate. 

"We eat here all the time," commented the green-suited man as they went into the dimly lit place, wood-furnishing throughoutThey sat at a table for six, two of the citizens moving to another table.And the man in green suit spoke on."Since you're _newbies_ in town, it's only right that you get good service to start." 

A slim curly-haired waitress came, one dressed in black skirt and white blouse, with suspenders and a belt-pouch on blouse and waist.She had a writing stencil and paperless notepad in that belted pouch. 

Van looked uncomfortably at the waitress:The paperless notepad meant that the woman had to write down orders; that meant that she had a human brain.And that meant that she must be human.That made for Van feeling embarrassing and uncomfortable, because Van—a _robot_—was going to be served on by a _human_.She deliberately looked away, instead looked at the three new friends that sat across the round table. 

The waitress spoke."Hello, I'll be your waitress for today.Two ladies at the other table told me that you three were newbies to town.We must give you the welcome drink."The waitress looked at the others at the table."You three citizens choose to drink the drink with them?" 

The green-suited man looked up, smiling with his tanned face."Why not?Welcome drinks for everyone!And why not some food?They must want food, traveling in from the plains." 

The Cloaked Man looked up."I don't know about my cohorts, but I want some darned good coffee.And bring some oatmeal.Alia and Van probably want cherry pie, right?" 

Alia looked at The Cloaked Man, her eyes with _that_ look.The Cloaked Man was acting up again, being ill-mannered and insane in conduct.His odd-styled talking, his wacked-out wording, was tolerated in Brunswick.What of here? 

Van's eyes showed some worry—partially because of recent lightning damage and she was unsure if her body could catalyze foodstuffs now.Also partially because The Cloaked Man was going to facilitate a human serving a robot.Van still didn't want to be served on by a human; it wasn't right. 

The Cloaked Man ignored their stares."Bring it on!" he said.He then reached into his left pocket, pulled out a fistful of hundred-dollar bills.He handed the crumpled green bills to the waitress."Yeah, and keep the rest for a tip," he said.The waitress smiled, pocketed the money, then went to handle their orders.Now, he knew that dollars were good here.So some of those travelers' tales were right; dollars are good _everywhere_! 

The three well-dressed people opposite The Cloaked Man laughed nervously.For people dressed outside of fashion, the newcomers must be wealthy."Wealthy newbies!Congratulations on your wealth!" said the man in green, smiling. 

The welcome drinks—tall glasses full of red liquid—came for all six at the table.And there was the food:oatmeal and darned good coffee for The Cloaked Man, big slices of cherry pie for Van and Alia.Silverware was given with each serving of food. 

"Okay, people," began the man in green.He raised his glass."Here's to the fun and tinsel of Fusion City!Greatest, most beautiful and most entertaining place on the plains!"The Cloaked Man raised his own glass in response, so did his two other party members. 

"Cheers!" said The Cloaked Man.Then they drank the welcome drinks, the drinks tasting like a sort of fruit punch.And there was another deeper taste beneath the fruity citrus taste.It tasted something like Brennan's Special, but more a fruity flavor instead of a full brew. 

The woman in white, seated to the left of Jim, put her left hand on his wrist."Jim, let _me_ call in their citizenship," she said.Jim shrugged, took a small wireless telephone out of his vest and handed to her.She took the small device, then quick-dialed something with her perfect hands."Yes, Administrative Control?Give me the Registry database," she said.Some seconds passed, and she spoke again."Yes, I wish to register three newcomers to the city records.Names?"She looked at the three newcomers, then handed the wireless telephone to the most normally dressed of them:Van."Each of you say your names into the telephone.It's connected to the town records' A.I." 

Van used her hands to push some of her dark hair behind her ears, out of the way as so she could better use the telephone."Van," she said.She handed the telephone to The Cloaked Man.Smiling, he said, "The Cloaked Man," he said.He handed the telephoneto Alia."Alia," said the small metal-type cyborg.She handed the device back to the woman—who smiled nervously in taking the telephone from metal fingers. 

"Now, you three are citizens as long as you want to stay around!" said Jim, the man in green."Hope you people stay.We almost never get newcomers.The last group we got was twenty years, eight month and seventeen days ago." 

The Cloaked Man thought it odd, how that man remembered that time so exactly.That weird glitzy guy in the green suit, he told it down to months and days—pretty accurate-minded.They really must not get newcomers often, to care so much.In the meanwhile, they would finish their food. 

They finished eating.The Cloaked Man (unnecessarily) washed down the last of his oatmeal with the rest of his damned good coffee.He drank the remaining half-liter of dark liquid straight from the thermos—prolonged chugging that would have drowned a real-bodied person.Alia surreptitiously wiped the remains of cherry pie away from her small mouth, then carefully folded the cloth napkin as so the resulting stain would not show or touch the table.Being a robot, Van "ate" flawlessly.She did not have stains on her big mouth. 

"Damned good coffee!" said The Cloaked Man with his big mouth."Damned good!Not too hot, but still damned good!"Other waitresses came by to get the bowls, cups and the pitcher.Other waitresses?Each waitress looking like a facsimile of the next; all had the very same looks, bodies and clothes.The Cloaked Man thought it creepy, about as creepy as Alia... 

He even began to tell the guy in green that."Hey, Jim.All of those waitresses look _exactly_ alike.I think it's creepy."The Cloaked Man had the green-suited man's attention."Don't people and the waitresses get pretty irritated at that, having serving people all look like replicants?" 

After a shrug and smile, the tanned woman in the white dress said, "Oh, they never mind looking alike.They all look that way because they each resemble the perfect waitress.Last year, it was blonde hair and large-busted look.Now, it's the whole slim-and-dark-hair fashion.Waitresses have their own fashions. "One more replicant-style waitress came by to get the remains of the food and serve glasses of mineral water to someone at the table."Thank you," said the woman in white, beginning to drink the water. 

Van smirked."Pretty freaky.We didn't have people so dedicated to fashion in Brunswick.Every human in Brunswick is out to earn enough money to pay for necessities.Clothing fabrication plants just did the same and made the same types of clothes.Fashion is inefficient and expensive.Human thinking…" 

The three well-dressed people opposite Van just smiled uncomfortably, looking at each other and giving chuckles."These newcomers say the oddest things," said the man in green."Talking about us 'humans.'" 

Van looked at him."I'll say it again.You humans can be pretty inefficient.Admit it.Having a living brain makes for pretty odd urges.Like eating.Like fucking.Sure am glad I just _look_ human.My brain is computer circuitry.Living brains are messy, think messy thoughts.Ew!" 

Alia spoke to those across the table."Please forgive.The status of Van's mental well-being is in flux.Please do doubt that this behavior can last.That, because it will not."The small metal-type cyborg then leaned forward to look right—looking past The Cloaked Man and at Van.Looking at Van, she addressed the well-dressed people."On that issue, are there decent machinists' shops here in Fusion City?Facilities would be quite useful in…_facilitating_ the psychological recovery of our friend." 

Van went wide-eyed, her mouth expanding."You wouldn't _dare_, you titanium-bodied elf-thing!I'm enjoying all the hours of this new personality.It makes me feel alive! 

"Sure as Hell beats being my nervous and scared old self.I was a _dork_!If anyone needs change, it's you, Alia!You talk like a damned hippie!And you need a change of clothes, too.Put some clothes on that metal ass of yours.You look pretty freaky." 

The Cloaked Man nudged with his right elbow, nudging Van."Watch it, kiddo.Keep up that attitude, and I might be a bit partial to getting your personality recovery sped up at a shop, too.I consider bitchiness in types:There's acting cute-and-bitchy, and there's just acting bitchy.Guess which way you're acting, Van?Don't guess too long, though…" 

Van quickly took what remained of her glass of water and wetly splashed it in The Cloaked Man's face.She then leapt to do handstand on the table, palms in the middle of the flat brown surface.After some seconds of that antic, she snapped her feet down and away, landing on the floor. 

She wagged her right pointer-finger back at Alia and The Cloaked Man, still over at the table and still surprised."Nobody's touching _my_ head, you mush-brained freaks!"She was then out of the restaurant in a hurry. 

The Cloaked Man used a sleeve of his tee shirt to wipe his face, then spoke."Dang, and I was just ready to order some more damned good coffee…Come on, Alia.We've got to catch that crazy robot-girl." said The Cloaked Man.He grabbed little Alia under the shoulders and quickly went for the door, carrying her like a doll-child.She gave a high-pitched squeal of protest at the treatment, but she didn't squirm.Struggle would waste seconds. 

Outside and on the beautiful city sidewalk, Alia escaped The Cloaked Man's grip with a controlled double-jerk of her shoulders.She landed on her armor-solid bootlets, gave a shake of her pale blonde hair and trying to restore her dignity.And then, looking around, she saw Van in the parking lot, just getting on her nuke bike. 

Alia, being smaller, was faster in going through throngs of scattered people on the sidewalk—dodging expensively clad bystanders to approach the small parking lot at the side of the restaurant.The Cloaked Man tried to keep up with the quick little metal-type cyborg, jumping over one group of people at one point. 

Van just started her nuke bike when Alia stood before it.There was the heavy thrum of the engine and the dark look in Van's night-colored eyes.Van looked aggressively angry, her pale face severe and troubled."You don't want a rubberoid streak between your little metal tits, do you, Alia?'Cause if you don't move, I'm going to run you right over.You're so small that you won't make more disturbance than a creepy little bump." 

"I refuse to evade," said Van, spreading her feet and clenching her small and articulate machine-hands.Her realistic face was just as set in confidence."This is me making a solid stand.You joke of my body being solid, but this is a solidly serious manner.Your behavior is a solidly serious matter." 

There was a small breeze, and The Cloaked Man was suddenly here in a blur of red fluttering cape.He wrapped his sinewy arms around Van's slim middle, holding.Then…_Uh oh_, he thought, remembering that Van's synthetic body was with a higher strength rating, because her brain was robotic. 

Quite suddenly, The Cloaked Man was on his back, the back of his head having tapped the pavement.He tried to remember what in tarnation just happened.He _was_ holding Van, no longer.She had shoved him backward with her elbows—her elbows moving at near-supersonic speed.And he had been smacked onto his caped-and-tee-shirted back.If he had been real-bodied, Van's maneuver would have, like… _mutilated_ him.All the same, the pain in his head overwhelmed him.Damn, his head _hurt_…Then he blacked out, sprawled on the clean pavement of the parking lot. 

That left just one other person to handle Van.Alia pivoted as so she faced Van anew, now that Van had dismounted. 

With yet more anger and contempt in her eyes, the gynoid looked down at Alia."Ooh!You're just _so_ annoying!Your freaky talking.Your action.Your whole little attitude!Anyone else ever tell you that?" 

Alia made a quick backhand swiping gesture, tearing the air with a gesture of disgust, strands of her hair gently blowing in the breeze as the synthetic flesh of her face had anger."Cease criticism!My own attitude does _not_ disrupt the viability of our party.The Cloaked Man and I, we both agree on who needs changing.Said more explicitly, we agree on _what_ needs changing.Despite your realistic and beautiful human appearance, you are a robot.Your body, your brain, your mind—you are synthetic to absolution.Remember your origins, _gynoid_." 

Van rolled her eyes."Oh-_ho_!Getting racist, are you?If you were to replace your eyes with blue ones, you'd look just like a little armor-bodied Nazi!"Van saw how she perplexed Alia with that reference; Alia must know much data on human history.Silly human brains, not good for learning."Nazis, Alia!Sheesh, you don't know?Nazism: ancient global subculture of warfare, one of racial hatred and human brutality.Racial purity was advocated by one of Nazism's notorious leaders, Hitler, who had a fetish for blue eyes and blonde hair.Your eyes are dark, but you can always get blue ones to complete the image." 

"Hatred and brutality?Such would come about if I allowed you to leave," said Alia, staring up into Van's eyes.It was the gynoid's turn to look perplexed."You must now ask yourself a critical question, Van:Where will you go if you leave us? 

"Leave us, and face troubles.When the people of this city find you to be a humanoid robot, with computers for a mind?What will you do in response?Also, what will be done _to_ you?" 

Van shook her head, dark hair rippling.She put her hands on slacks-covered hips."I'll tell you what I'll do, Alia!I'm staying right here, in Fusion City!I can be a waitress again.Earn and save up enough money to get another synthetic body, one that looks very different.With a new body, I can get a new name—to change my citizenship registry.You saw how lazy this place is with registration!I'll just say that I'm human." 

"To stay in Fusion City for all of your time?" said Alia."That, while knowing and remembering that the City of Slow Dreams will always be far and away?A place of legendary happiness, and you refuse to try for it?" 

Van smiled, had an answer to that."Hee hee hee…You silly little cyborg!Did you ever stop to consider how _this_ could be the City of Slow Dream, little girl?Thought you flesh-brains were supposed to be smarter than us computer-brained humanoid robots.Well, think about this:Fusion City is just like the old times, according to the data downloaded into my memory. 

"This place looks like something out of the pre-War period, just like the City of Slow Dreams.All the people here look real-bodied.And the way they reacted to your physical appearance, how you look from the neck down, they must all be so human that they never saw cyborgs before.All _humans_ here, Alia—like the pre-War period.None of those sadistic tendencies that cyborgs tend to display, like the Ganglanders. 

"Just keep looking around!Everything looks so beautiful here, kept clean and pretty.All the buildings are tall and shiny.No cracks or trash in these streets.Compare this place to Brunswick.Brunswick, looking weak and ramshackle in most parts.Brunswick's streets all broken down and nasty. 

"Compared to Brunswick, this _has _to be the City of Slow Dreams.It's as close to paradise as I can recall from stored data." 

Alia heard a pained masculine groan from her lower right.The Cloaked Man was still lying there, was now sitting up from where Van knocked him down."What are you babbling about, you malfunctioning robot?" he said."This can't be the City of Slow Dreams because this is _Fusion_ City!Fusion City, City of Slow Dreams, can't you see the difference in names?"He squinted to look over at Alia, then back to Van."Anyway, I'd _know_ the City of Slow Dreams, and this ain't it, folks.It just doesn't feel right.My guidance got us this far, didn't it? 

"And why are you rebelling against us, your new owners?Running away and all.Where the heck would you be without our help?"He nodded, seeming to see Van's thought processes as she thought of his statements."Uh huh, you'd still be back at _Steve's Café_, being punished and mistreated by remote until not even your body's autorepair systems could fix your short circuits.And remember that it took Alia to fix you more than once.If you were missing your reboot module thingy, and you didn't know, what else are you missing? 

"Face the truth, Van.You need us.You need my resources and Alia's super skills to help you stay alive.If you became too damaged again, how would you know if your new owners would help you?Who would help you?Not me!Not Alia!If you left, you'd be out of our party and out of our help.Put _that _through your thought processors." 

Van did, considered The Cloaked Man's typically wordy speech—and Alia's commentary.Yes, The Cloaked Man did guide her this far.He _did_ her out of Brunswick.Alia, she _was_ a superior techie.What if there were no techies in Fusion City as good as her?And what if no one in Fusion City knew how to repair her or wanted to repair her?Really, she needed Alia and The Cloaked Man. 

Van let out an audible breath; she conceded to the logic of the arguments.Then, she lifted The Cloaked Man to his feet.He brushed his cape and pants.Van had to apologize."Sorry, Cloak.Guess I wasn't really thinking.My simulated emotions must be becoming pretty strong in influencing my logic."And maybe, over-simulated emotions prevented Van from seeing the local versions of the e-cops come by. 

The seven-foot, trench-coated figures came out from behind _Tad's_.More emerged from behind cars.More of them walked out of the restaurant's back door.Summarily, they came from plenty of locations.They came to crowd the three that made a ruckus in the parking lot of _Tad's_, surrounded the three troublemakers as so they were blocked off from their nuke-bikes. 

Eight, ten…_eleven_ e-cops now surrounded Van, Alia and The Cloaked Man.The three looked around, seeing those gigantic figures of law enforcement forming a tall wall of people around—_all _around.Clearly, they were surrounded. 

"What seems to be the problem, Enforcement officers?" asked The Cloaked Man.He looked from one pale smooth face to another.All of these e-cops looked exactly alike, almost exactly like the e-cops in Brunswick:button shirts, plain ties, tan slacks and tan trenchcoats.Which one should he address?The one with a hat?No, they all had hats, unlike the e-cops of Brunswick. 

The e-cops had similar expressions, looks of disdain and slight amusement.One of the giants spoke in a normal-toned voice."Well, buddy, you're the problem.You and your two girlfriends are making public disturbance.And that's against the law." 

Another e-cop spoke, one that Alia was facing.She was looking that e-cop in the eyes—even if she had to lean slightly back to do so.That e-cop looked back, saying, "And here in Fusion City, we don't tolerate public disturbances.It's a zero-tolerance thing.Meaning, for just one offense, we punish you.We imprison you, register your activities with Administrative Control, then we reform you." 

Alia pressed her thin lips together.She used her gray fingers to brush some loose strands of her flax-toned hair out of her eyes, then she questioned the officer."Reform?That has infinite references.Give a touch of mercy.Do explain." 

Another e-cop, one Van was staring at, did explain."By reform, we mean that we make sure that you never make ruckus again."Van's eyes went wide.The e-cop added, "No, we don't kill you.That would be kinda wrong. 

"We just modify your brains a bit.Some reprogramming, you know?A trip down to Administrative Control, and your brains'll be functioning again.But not in such an annoying way." 

"Modify our brains, huh?" said The Cloaked Man, his eyes narrowing."You must think we're computers or something.Well, at least two of us have human brains, living brains.And our brains don't _like _the idea of modification.We're screwed up enough as it is!" 

Alia clenched her small gray hands."Mutilation is threatened.In turn, mutilation is offered.This becomes yet another exchange of damage, my friends."She positioned her feet as so they were eighteen inches apart, stood sideways.And she raised those fists of hers. "Combat with authority figures.So a Ganglander ideal comes to a new city." 

Hearing _Ganglander_, the e-cops' collective emotional stance changed.Instead of amused disdain, they switched to simple amusement.Smirks changed from smiles.Commentary came with those smiles, ridicule. 

"O-o-oh, the newbies are angry!Trying to be like a Ganglander!" said one e-cop."I think they're gonna try to hurt us!The metal elf with the synthetic face will probably bite our kneecaps!" 

"Yeah, look out for those metal types!I heard they're _War_ antiques.She probably has one of those b-guns built into her right leg or something," said another. 

"I don't think so.She's too cute to have hidden weapons.She's probably just a little metal-bodied dolly for the guy in the cape to play with," commented yet another e-cop. 

"Ha, hah, and just look at that guy with the cape!What kind of weirdo wears a cape, anyway?Must be some kind of megalomaniac.You know, conquer the world or something," said one e-cop near the back of the crowd."Won't have too many conquest ideas after Administrative Control gets through with'em.Let's get'em." 

There was an extremely audible crackling, the severe sound of The Cloaked Man's red cape charged and ready.His head was down, seeming to look at his dark shoes, and his fists were clenched.A breeze then blew across the parking lot, and the e-cops reacted slightly oddly—becoming quiet and looking around.Something was not right. 

"Alia, Van, grab my shoulders," he said to his other party members.They did so, The Cloaked Man's hands moved, and the scene exploded in a flash of bright blue—accompanied by a loud tearing sound of wind. 

After the flash, The Cloaked Man brought down his hands and stumbled—falling to a knee.He looking at the results.Alia and Van, dazed, looked around as well.Now, those 

e-cops were now all over this parking lot.Some were lying on their sides.Seven were face-down and by the curb.Two were slumped against the wall of the restaurant.And somehow, all of them still had their hats. 

Four e-cops recovered immediately, getting up and now stepping over to the three.Rather, they stomped over, their shoes clumping along the pavement.That was not a friendly walk.The e-cops were very far from a friendly mood. 

"You two handle them," said The Cloaked Man, still kneeling."My energy systems were purged after that field-effect burst."Indeed, his energy systems were so drained that his mobility was compromised.And to keep from overheating, he was now breathing deep breaths. 

Alia and Van stood to the left and right of The Cloaked Man.They both bent their arms, fists in fighting stances again.And the immense e-cops stomped angrily closer, looks of anger on their faces.So blinded with hate of these perpetrators, they came 

plod-stomping closer with no regard to strategy. 

Then, the e-cops stopped—four yards from the lawbreakers.Shoulder to shoulder, the four gigantic e-cops were a solid wall of danger.And they also had their fists clenched.To anyone else, this would have been cause to run.But no one was running from this fight. 

Van dashed forward, long night-dark hair fluttering as she rushed one e-cop.She made two machine-fast punches at the abdomen of one e-cop.Then she leapt back.When she stood back with Alia, she watched that e-cop fall to a knee.Yes, the synthetic bodies of those e-cops were built with the same specifications—as with mobility components in the abdomen and barely protected by a layer of myogel "muscle." 

Three yet remained, and two came stomping onward.Alia now acted.She moved forward, a four-foot blur of blonde-topped metal-gray.Still moving blur-fast, she leapt and kicked another e-cop in his left hip.The attack shredded cloth and bloodless artificial flesh from the hip, sending that e-cop staggering. 

But the other oncoming e-cop was still ready.Alia still faced the e-cop she struck; she did not see the hit coming from behind…It was a blow from a left fist, and the hit sent Alia to the ground, skidding on her right armor shoulder. 

Alia managed to stand and evade another potential blow.She was not feeling so spry after that last hit, though.Her head felt full of dimness and pain that came close to completely closing over her.Another hit like that, and maybe she wouldn't be able to fight anymore.There was a slight moan—then realized it was her own sound of pain. 

The Cloaked Man, still back, tried to stand.Tried further, still tried to stand, as his mobility was still compromised._Shoot!_And he fell to his knee again.His systems were still that drained.Then he fell over backward, unable to stop his own fall. 

Van looked back, saw The Cloaked Man fall.She looked forward again and saw how Alia was away from the e-cops.Oh well, The Cloaked Man would be out for a while.Van was quickly by Alia's side. 

That e-cop, the one with the flensed hip, growled and made a lunge at Alia again.Van kicked high and straight out.That put the damaged e-cop on his back—and out of the action. 

That made for two e-cops with viability enough to confront Alia and Van."We take one at a time," said Alia."Select an opponent to engage."Van heard, and she moved to confront one e-cop.Alia moved to the other standing e-cop, though her head still felt somewhat pained. 

The seven-foot e-cop raised his right hand very high above his head, then brought it slamming down.He intended to smash Alia into the pavement, squash her like a little blonde-headed brat. 

_This is not my death_, thought the small metal-type cyborg.She raised both her arms as so her forearms acted as a shield.And the giant's massive blow _thunked_ against her forearms. 

She then sidestepped.Her fists moved, cutting away the e-cop's right flank.Then she kicked at the back of his knees, making him fall onto his back—the back of his head hitting the parking lot. 

On Van's front, she had trouble.The e-cop grabbed one of her thin arms with his left hand, and his right hand went for her neck.Van's plastic-ringed windpipe was shut, and she could not breathe. 

Air was not necessary for her brain—which was just computer circuitry.But she needed air for speech and cooling.Being strangled, she felt her internal temperatures rising slightly.A small yellow-colored text message appeared in the right side of her vision, warning her of increasing temperatures…Then she took kicks at the e-cop's shins—metal-boned shins. 

Alia stepped over to help.She pulled back her right armored fist, pivoting.There was a quick arc and a sound of air snapping as Alia attacked.The right side of the e-cop's abdomen exploded from the blow, a flare of sparks and bits of rubbery synthetic flesh.Of course, the damaged e-cop released Van, falling and clutching his damaged side. 

Stepping a few steps back and stroking her crimped throat back into shape, she took deep breaths and looked at the now-paralyzed e-cop, him falling to the asphalt.That made for yet another e-cop down, another one defeated.How many were defeated?She looked around, saw that all of the e-cops should have been downed now. 

The Cloaked Man finally managed to stand, and he carefully walked to be by Alia and Van."Damn we're tough.We beat an entire precinct's worth of misbehaving law-enforcement officers, didn't we?"He then saw a vehicle approaching this parking lot, a fancy vehicle coming along the street."What, someone else is coming by to check out our victory?" 

Indeed, a long and smooth-bodied gray car came by—a stretch limousine.The driver did not bother to come into the parking lot; there were unconscious and damaged figures all about.Instead, the limo pulled up to the side. 

That was when nine of the e-cops quickly stood up from where they were knocked over from The Cloaked Man's initial attack, the field-effect static burst.Too quickly, they moved to capture the newbies; they had their hands on the necks and shoulders of the three, forced them to face the long car now here. 

Van struggled in this new grip, as did her cohorts."Jackasses!I thought The Cloaked Man's attack knocked you out!Go back to sleep, you shit-kicking…" The grip on Van's slender neck tightened, shutting off her flow of obscenities.Thinking, _Damn it, will people leave my windpipe alone today?_

Alia and The Cloaked Man, having living brains, needed to breathe.They kept quiet of commentary.They remained so even when an extremely odd man came out of the back door of the parked limousine. 

It was a wide-bodied fat man, one with big arms and thick legs.He was a tan and balding man with a large gut.He dressed now in gray flannel sweatpants and filled his gray sweatshirt.At least, his gut was real flesh, though his left arm and left eye were clearly metal.Not quite a cyborg; he still had most of his real flesh. 

"Let up on that gynoid's throat, will ya?" said the big man, now standing in front of the limousine."Gynoids are a type of robot that need to breathe, sort of.Keeps their insides cool." 

"Sure, Coach," said the e-cop, and he loosened his grip on Van's neck.Still, the other e-cops were sure to keep firm grips on her arms._What a whacked-out name for a guy,_thought Van.She would not say that out loud.Being strangled twice today was enough. 

The big-bellied man from the limo took steps closer to the three, his hands open and by his sides—both his real hand and his metal one."Yeah, this is a real _hello_ to the rest of my town, ain't it?You're welcomed in by some nice people, then you start raising some Hell.I woulda come by earlier to stop ya, but had to do some maintenance of Administrative Control.With you three causing trouble, I had to come right over. 

"Anyway," said the big man.He put both his metal and real hand against his chest—above his large gut."The name's Coach, as ya just heard.I used to be called something else, but I don't care about that name anymore."He saw the captive with the cape smirk."Hey, hey!It's as real a name as Cloaked Man, right?Heh, and you three people are gonna get a chance to make a bigger name for yourselves.'Cause you three are gonna…" He spread his big arms."Gonna do some _Arena fighting!_" 

The Cloaked Man looked at the man called _Coach_."Uh, are we allowed to say 'no'? We were just in town for a rest-stop and want to head off for the sunset….Never mind!I can see the sort of answer you plan to give." 

Coach slowly shook his head."Ya get me.Ya can't say no.Unless ya plan on trying another one of those temporary electro-burst thingies and trying escaping.I saw _that_ with cameras, and I saw all the things you three did.Yeah, you're all gonna be _prime_ Arena fighters."Coach then looked at the e-cops, then jerked a thumb at the limo behind him."Bring'em into the limo.We're goin' to the Arena!" 

The three were each put in a separate row of seats in the limousine:Van was put in the back row of seats, The Cloaked Man in the second-to-last row, and Alia in the third row.Of course, each did not sit alone; each party member was sided by two tall 

e-cops hunched in seats next to them.Coach sat in the front-most row of seats, the row immediately before the driver. 

In this way, they rode the seven miles to the Arena.It was a long, quiet and nervous ride.It seemed a very long ten minutes to The Cloaked Man.He resisted the need to say, _Are we there yet?_

After riding for those ten minutes without spoken words, they were at an immense stadium near the middle of Fusion City.Motoring along in next to no traffic, the gray limousine went to the front entrance of the grand circular building, a building three stories in height and two four city blocks in width.The driver put the vehicle in park and turned off the engine.They were here. 

Coach muscled his big self over to a right-side door of the vehicle, opened it, then stepped out into daylight.Immediately, a bald-headed tall man in dark suit came out of the Arena.He quickly stood in front of Coach, ready for Coach's orders.Coach gave some orders. 

"Howdy-do, Mr. Janx.Listen up:We got a sassy girl-robot to compete in an Arena match, a new challenger," he said to the bald man waiting outside.Coach then turned to the limousine, snapped the fingers of his right hand—his real hand."Okay, boys, bring'em out.Show Mr. Janx what we've got."That order given, both he and Mr. Janx saw the three newcomers brought out:the Eurasian gynoid, the odd synth-flesh cyborg in a cape, and the petite metal-bodied blonde girl."A real bunch, ain't they?" 

Mr. Janx nodded, grinned a metal-toothed grin.Sharpened gray titanium teeth glinted in his mouth, dangerous.Indeed, he saw an interesting group.And putting that beautiful girl-robot in the ring would be even _more_ interesting to the crowd, which was already watching another match.Put her up against a big robot or cyborg.Beauty versus The Beast.The crowd would love it.Still grinning that sharp grin, Mr. Janx then went inside to quick-ready a fight for the new guest-fighter…. 

Alia and The Cloaked Man were lifted out of the limousine, to watch Van being carried _by the neck_, into the building.One of the e-cops spoke up."Give us any lip, and we may just have to cut off your air for awhile.You wouldn't want that, right?"And they were taken into the front entrance of the Arena. 

Coach accompanied them inside, commenting on the grand tradition of the Arena.They bypassed the ticket window, the vendors giving knowing nods to the big man with left eye and left arm of metal.And beyond the turnstiles, there was a long hall that curved left and right. 

They went along this hall, the sound of the loud crowd rumbling and echoing.At some points, the sound of the crowd drowned out the sounds of their footsteps along this hall.Coach made everyone stop moving."You hear'em.That's the _crowd_!" he said to the two captives-in-company."Ya gotta love the crowd!And they love ya right back.Win or lose, the crowd loves a really good fight.They'll cheer!They'll shout!If you're good, they'll pump their fists in the air, all together.That makes a really sweet sound to an Arena fighter's ears."Commentary given, Coach turned and began walked on. Alia and The Cloaked Man were carried onward. 

They then came to an elevator, marked STAFF ONLY.Coach went to the elevator and put his real hand against the elevator buttons, letting the sensors register his presence.The elevator came, a very spacious one with padded walls and chrome buttons.Everyone went up and along a short hall to a small room—a room with tensor-reinforced glass windows.Below the windows left and right were television-sized high-resolution video screens, padded seats before those screens.The front window was for looking directly out into the crowd and the Fighting ring itself. 

"Yeah, have yourselves some seats, ya troublemakers," said Coach, nodding to e-cops that held the captives.They split the two up:moved The Cloaked Man to one of the seats before the left-side monitor, moved Alia to a center seat at the right-side monitors.Coach ambled over to the front window, looking into the Arena proper—the Fighting ring. 

"The match is about to get started," he said."Those monitors will give ya three close-ups of the action.And ya don't even hafta be there.Gonna love it." 

Just over fifty yards away and three stories down, Van was being hustled into the Fighting ring.The ring was a circular area forty yards across.Surrounding it was a thick gray-metal wall set in place by rivets, an area entered by way of a closable section.Above the wall was a tensor field, invisible above the wall and ready to catch any debris flung from the fight.The crowd would be safe to watch the synthetic-bodied competitorsabsolutely destroy one another in competition. 

Van was shoved into the gray-floored Fighting ring, and the wall closed behind her.She saw people all around, thousands of people, an ocean of spectators.They wanted to watch her be mutilated and destroyed.The longer she put up a good fight, the better.That was what she had been told. 

Van told herself that she would not go down easily.She refused.So much had been put into her:an upgraded personality, new repairs and _human friendship_.If she was to be destroyed here, then she would do as much damage as she could—taking the opponent with her. Even if she had no soul, was just a sort of spirit in computer chips inside an equally synthetic body, she would give a fight worthy of her friends with real human spirits. 

They lowered the opponent into the ring—an opponent so immense that it had to be winched in by heavy-hooked cable:a titanium-bodied monster-machine.Six feet across and nine feet tall, three feet thick.It had pole-thick arms and legs, massive metal feet.Its left fist was a hammer, and the three fingers of the right hand were sharpened:claws.To Van, it looked like a modified version of the metal troll she and her other party members fought out on the plains.Indeed, it was. 

That thing being lowered into the ring was an Arena Battle Droid—a modified Military Battle Droid.This gigantic machine-beast was reconfigured for more prolonged fighting.Rather, instead of fighting for a quick victory, it was programmed to slowly disable its opponent—then kill it in a climactic _coup de grace_. 

The hook released, and the metal beast drop-thudded into the ring.It stood, its claws and hammer ready.Now, with stomping movements that shook the Fighting ring, the ABD moved to carry out its programming by destroying the gynoid. 

Van ran at the larger robot, moving at a very fast speed.In mid-run, she leapt too fast for any human viewer to see clearly, and kicked in mid-air, her foot _thudding_ against the thing's midsection.She was glad to see the thing take an off-balanced step back, a dent in its body.If the machine-monster had a face, it would probably show surprise.At least, she hoped. 

It struck back, rotating its upper body as it horizontally swung massive hammer-fist.Van felt the powered impact against her right arm, like being struck by a road-construction vehicle.As she went flying to the side, _warning_ text messages filled the far right side of her vision. 

Her body eventually stopped skidding near the circular wall of the Arena, and she managed to stand.Her right arm was not working correctly; her shoulder was slightly crooked.According to systems diagnostics, her mobility systems were damage.Worse, her overall structural integrity was also compromised. 

Overriding the damage signals blinking in parts of her electronic mind, Van tried to run at the machine, but she tumbled and fell with the first stride.This put her again in front of the gigantic machine-beast.Somewhat able to use her right arm, Van brought herself to her feet.And she slammed her still-working left fist into the machine-beast's body—right into the dent. 

Her punch deepened that dent, made it a crack—motor-heated air coming out of that crack.She pulled back her fist, and saw that she skinned her knuckles—seeing her own gleaming gray metal bones beneath. 

There was a _whirring_ sound when the ABD struck back.Van felt herself _smacked_ again.This time, the blow was against her upper left arm, a cuttingly damaging attack.It was an attack done with the beast's claw-hand. 

Van was then on her back, feeling more damage signals coming into her electronic mind.Now, _red_ warning texts filled both the right and left periphery of her vision.She did not have to look to know that the synth-flesh of her upper left arm was gouged—both arms now disabled.Also, she did not have to see that part of her abdomen was sheared.She was further disappointed that her body's diagnostics did not tell her that her blouse was now such a torn mess; _she _looked a mess as the bloodless synth-flesh beneath was just as torn. 

Through her damage-troubled hearing, Van heard the ABD coming to finish her off.Its massive feet stomped along.She would _not_ be destroyed in this corny way, lying down and pitiful.Somehow, by using her barely-functioning right arm and what remained of her abdominal myogel musculature, Van brought herself to a weak standing position—just as the ABD stopped to stand over her. 

Van looked up and into the round gray chunk of metal the machine-monster had for a head.She could feel the machine heat coming from the thing's body.There were sounds as well, sounds of motors.The ABD was powering up, and Van could not move her arms or get her legs to kick. 

Van spoke to the monster of a machine, her voice a static-ridden rasp from damage done to her."_Was it as good for you as it was for me, big guy?_" she said.And she smiled.She even smiled when both the claw and the hammer came down on her. 

_There was a double explosion of electronic pains that blinded out everything as all seemed to go red and full of static, damage signals and red warning texts scrolled through Van's now-darkened sight—before the text signals turned to gibberish as systems short-circuited and the signal blinked, and finally everything shut down into darkness_. 


	6. Dream Chapter 6...

City of Slow Dreams:  Chapter 6  (by Elliot Bowers)

     _Nice try, robot, thought Coach after watching Van's performance, a defeat down there in the Fighting ring.  __For such a pretty thing, you  put up a pretty good fight...  What make..?  Oh yeah, a servant model.  Some kinda Eurasian gynoid, not locally manufactured…   _

_     Ah well.  He regarded the two newbies in here:  the little metal-bodied blonde girl at the left-side monitors and the weird curly-haired, caped man at the right-side monitors.  Both of those two were shock-still in staring at their respective monitors—watching the transmitted view of their ruined party member being picked up from the ring.  _

     And outside this high-up viewing office of the Arena, out among the thousands in the Arena's crowd, they did enjoy the show.  All the men and women, from dark-haired to gray-haired, they loved that surprise match.  The exotically beautiful girl-robot fought that immense beast.  The crowd saw her run and punch.  And they saw her endure the damage done to herself.  Truly bitter fighting to her end.  How beautiful!  There was a general buzz—an immense constant roar of thousands of conversations happening.  Conversations, about the oddity and novelty of that fight.  

     _Conversations, like the conversation between shapely, red-haired Sue Graham and big, handsome Bob Rafferty, seated near the front row—both dressed up, like so many of Fusion City's inhabitants.  Bob brought Sue here on a different kind of date.  Bob came here all the time before courting Sue, but stopped for a while after getting her.  He let slip how he liked going to the Arena, and she admitted to him that he did, too.  So here they were._

     Sue slowly shook her lovely head while, down there in the ring, janitors swept up bits of debris from that last fight.  "That has to be one of the coolest surprise matches I ever saw," she said.  "That gynoid really fought all she could, and better."

     Bob nodded and grinned at this girl.  "Yeah, I agree.  Most gynoids are tossed in there for fighting fodder.  I remember a match where they put three gynoids up against 

L-Timmy GS.  You know, the blue boxing robot?"  Sue nodded.  He continued, 

"L-Timmy GS still managed to smash all of them.  A few punches each, and they went _down.  You know, it's all part of the shows.  Typical gynoids go down, and they stay down.  But that last gynoid, she didn't stay down.  Must've been given hyped-up mobility systems or something."_

     Sue looked at him.  "I don't know about that.  She looked just about as weak as the typical gynoid.  And she was knocked down just as easily, if not permanently."

     Their conversation went into a silent pause as both thought of that—the loud sound of the rest of the crowd filling the space.  Bob knew Sue was right; that gynoid lost her balance as easily as any other gynoid during matches.  Why _did that gynoid get back up, when she knew that she was going to be destroyed?  Most gynoids, once put into the Fighting ring, knew that they were doomed to destruction, so they stayed down and damaged after the first knock down.  Not that last one, though, as if the gynoid thought she—it—had chance enough to win.  Weird…  _

     _Conversations, like the conversations held by tastefully clothed, skinny Mike and equally stylish—and equally bony—Beckie.  A conversation held while their three freshly adopted kids ranted in the seats immediately before them.  Both Mike and Beckie looked as young and as beautiful as they did when they were first married, thanks to the many types of cosmetic surgeries available to all citizens.  But Mike and Beckie were somewhat more mature than their very youthful physical appearance—because of their current experience as parents.  In fact, the experience of child-rearing was the very reason why Mike and Beckie adopted the three children.  _

     "…Incredible!" exclaimed Mike again to Beckie as he wiped his wavy blonde hair with one of his skeletally thin hands.  "I simply cannot believe it.  I never, _never saw a gynoid stand again after an initial knock-down.  __Never.  That was too weird."_

     "Never underestimate the power of women, Mike, real or synthetic," said his bony wife, her professionally made-up thin face serious.  "Real fighters—the cyborgs—can be male and female, but note that typically masculine tendency to use girl robots for fodder.  Gynoids, just for fodder, because female robots are generally more cooperative.  But one of these days, I said, they were going to put in a gynoid that would not easily cooperate—just to be different."  She waved her left hand at the Fighting ring, hand as bony as the rest of her.  "All the same, the gynoid played her role and was destroyed.  Very cooperative in the end, really.  Noble and cooperative, as females are.  If there were a male gynoid in there, uncooperative, the crowd would not have loved the match as much."

     "Of course, my dear.  That last gynoid was worth pity, though," answered Mike, also checking the white buttons of his polo-style shirt and the cleanliness of his chinos, not wanting to immediately meet his wife's piercingly blue stare.  "Maybe we should expect more of the same in the future.  I think Mr. Coach will probably meet with Mr. Janx and plan to put more modified gynoids into the ring.  That would make for more surprise matches like that in the future."

     Beckie thought, f_uture matches...  She looked down at their three tastefully slender children, all dressed in new tee shirts and tan shorts, eating Mother Nature™ (vat-grown) peanuts and drinking All Natural™ (distilled) mineral water.  How did the kids react to that show of female strength being shown in the ring?_

     Beckie saw them chattering.  They were talking their own way, shouting _Awesome! and That was so groovy!  The children just liked physical action:  how the gynoid ran and struck, how she __got up, how that gynoid managed to dent a gigantic…  What do they call them?  Oh yes…  How that gynoid managed to dent an _ABD_ before being destroyed._

     Beckie would try to instill some of the pertinent lessons of what just passed.  The three children, two girls and one boy, would have to be told the importance of cooperation in society.  Even if one must be destroyed, people must perform their roles.  As for future Arena matches, Beckie hoped that gynoids would not be as rebellious and atypical.  She thought, and she listened to the loud crowd all around.  Cooperative people that all stayed in their seats and behaved as people in a crowd should…  

     _Conversations, also like the talk that casually dressed buddies Joe, Sam and Kirk were having—beers in their hands, babbling excitement on their faces.  All three were roving bachelors taking unofficial breaks of their advanced hyno-education courses for today:  i.e. playing that ageless game of _hooky_.  They all did what they normally did when taking breaks from their expensive schooling:  They came here to the Arena._

     And, today was a really great day; that fight was _too sweet.  Probably, a fight for the records.  _That fucking gynoid stood up after a knock-down!  Un-fucking-believable_!  Brown-haired Joe took a pull of his beer, then looked right at blond-haired Sam and dark-haired Kirk—all three buddies always in that order whenever they sat here in the Arena.  Though the crowd din was not so loud as to require shouting, Joe spoke loudly, anyway.  "Oh, __man!  That had to be __the best match I ever saw.  A fucking __gynoid put up a damned decent fight."_

     "Decent?  _Come on!  By Thunderhorse, what are you ranting about?" responded Sam, seated between his buddies and nearly done with his second bottle of beer.  "They finally give us a surprise match where a gynoid __finally gets up to damage an ABD, and you call that fucking __decent?  Hell, I want a gynoid that can fight as good as a cyborg.  Gynoidscan't _all_ be weak.  They're supposed to be over two hundred percent stronger than people, right?  It's about time we got to see one fight at all."  He leaned right, talking to dark-haired Kirk.  "You believe this guy?  Joe said __decent."  That said, Sam then took a drink from his steadily warming bottle of beer._

     The dark-haired guy on Sam's right had his own answer for the other two.  "Sam is right—for once, Joe.  That can't have been the best fight a gynoid could put up.  Remember the articles about the petite Japanesque gynoid, Ada?  Petite and pale-skinned, dressed in sleeveless blouse, and jeans?  Really dark hair?  Yeah, that Arena Fighter won matches for years before she was finally defeated."  Kirk ended that information bit with a drink from his own beer, making for exactly half of his beer being left.  He drank partially for the sake of gesture, partially to bolster himself a bit for the oncoming bit of consternation he so loved to make sometimes.  _Here we go…_

     Both Joe and Sam had looks of shock on their faces, their eyebrows going high up, their eyes wide.  Joe and Sam knew—that _Kirk_ knew—that the Arena champion Ada was just _rumored_ to have an electronic brain; she was officially registered as a synthetic-bodied human being when she fought.  Registered by Coach _himself_.  _No way_ was that champion a gynoid.  Anyway, humanoid robots didn't have simulated sentience back in the days when Ada was champion.

     "Are you fuckin' crazy, Kirk?" said Joe, verbally firing back at Kirk's controversy comment.  "You know the official story.  Ada wasn't a gynoid.  That's just crazy conspiracy talk.  You know, like that talk about ancient colonies on Mars, or there being mermaids."

     Sam added.  "Anyway, what you're saying goes against Coach.  Coach is responsible for everything that goes on in the Arena.  He's always been honest, always.  He's so damned good and clean a guy that he helps run_ Administrative Control itself!  No way would Coach lie and try to play off a robot as a human being.  Robots?  They're nothing but fancy toys for us to play with."  _

     Kirk smirked and eyed his bottle of beer.  "Odd, how you should just consider robots just 'machines' and 'toys.'  Did you ever consider if they have feelings?  They are programmed with personality emulation.  Robots, as with gynoids, also have simulated emotions.  

     "Also, what is being human?" continued Kirk in looking up from his bottle of beer.  "With all the cosmetic surgery citizens undergo when growing up, who is to say that we aren't robots after a certain point?"  

     Sam threw up his right hand, beer still in his left.  "Great, a fucking _argument!_  Just trying to go for one of those afternoons again, right Kirk?  You really know how to get us sometimes, bringing up crazy talk out of philosophy classes."  He gave a glimpse to the ring as the janitors finished up preparation for the next match.  "If your philosophy is so damned good, then tell us why in thunder and Hell that gynoid was able to get up again and fight, while _every other gynoid_ that ever fought in the ring was beat three times quicker…?"  

     They argued on.  Kirk used historical anecdotes and textbook arguments.  Sam stuck with anecdotes.  Joe went with commonplace reason.  And from there, the conversation between the three buddies decayed into other talk about gynoids, as with the possible advantages a well-designed gynoid could have in the Fighting ring—and in bed.  

_     Other conversations _nearby passed about there possibly being more surprise matches like that last one, with gynoids that put up fights like that.  In fact, more than a few were about bringing back that same gynoid.  Put her in a vat; let a batch of fresh nanobots repair her.  Why not make more of her tougher type for future matches?  Maybe, using gynoids for Arena fodder was something beginning to go out of fashion.

     But none of those conversations addressed Van as a person.  The crowd's talking was just about Van the robot-machine, not Van the person.  This was as those of Fusion City set clear and deep distinctions between human beings and robots.  Humans are humans.  Robots are robots—artificial beings with computers for brains.  As for cyborgs…  They  are just a type of people with synthetic bodies.  Maybe—in the founding days of Fusion City—people with synthetic bodies were once considered human beings, but no longer; that is just too inconvenient nowadays.  Best to just classify cyborgs next to robots.  The synthetic-bodied races are not as human as those of the crowd!    

     In the viewing office, one person especially saw Van as a person.  Sitting before the left-side monitors up in the viewing office, Alia felt injured herself.  She saw her friend killed.  And, all immediately after that, she had heard the crowd roar in approval as her friend and ally was defeated and mutilated.  The crowd loved pain.  They loved pain caused to others, the pain of her friend.

     That was very wrong.  That should not at all have happened.  How did any of this happen at all?  Why was this Arena here?  _Should it exist, a place where innocents were beaten and killed for the happiness of the crowd?  _

     Her large dark eyes, reflecting the bright image on the monitor, became darker with darkened thoughts.  A sort of rage began to fill her mind.  Without her fully conscious of it, her armor-solid hands clenched and heated.  She turned her face and eyes down from the monitor, loose strands of her pale silken hair coming over her synthetic face.  

     Her emotional state was beginning to interfere with her body's electromechanical processes.  The anger began to slightly darken her peripheral vision as her visual systems misinterpreted signals from her brain.  Her small artificial lungs took in deeper breaths.  And, her body's life support systems began to overreact.  Alia was becoming sickened with her own contained anger.  Feeling so, she stood up from her seat.  

     "Hey, kid, did I say that youse two could stand up?" commented Coach.  "I'm talkin' to ya!  Didn't ya hear me?  Huh?"  He saw a look of burning anger in the elfin cyborg's eyes, and her small metal body was rigid, fists clenched.  But, _ha ha ha…!  _ She was so petite and cute a figure—even if metal-bodied—that that he had an urge to pat her on the head and tell her to calm down.  Cute little cyborg was _mad_ at him!  

     Then again, given her recorded fighting ability, maybe he would not go patting that little thing on the head.  He could get himself a fist-shaped hole through the chest.  "Kid," he finally said, forced seriousness, "calm down, or I'll have some of my boys put ya in a corner."

     Alia let out a low growl, low and feral.  She knelt, then raised her right fist—crouching and dangerous.  Coach saw what Alia wanted to do, then he clicked the fingers of his left hand—his metal one.  Five giant e-cops moved to surround the little cyborg.  She would mutilate and murder them all!

     "Don't do it!" shouted The Cloaked Man, shouting to that sudden crowd against the left side of the room.  "You're trying your best to get us all killed, Alia?  Bad enough that our robot was smashed up and cut down.  But, we can always buy another one and another one, then another one.  You can't really buy extra lives, Alia."    

     Alia stood up from her kneeling position—while being very carefully watched by the e-cops.  She spoke, answering, "Cloaked Man, I fight and kill for a superior cause!  A cause superior to mutilation and murder for broad fun!  This entire scenario is _shit."_

     The Cloaked Man, seated and looking in the petite cyborg's direction, slowly put his hands to his mouth.  Such language from such a little person!  She must be loosing control of herself, and if she did not regain her sense of calm—creepy as it was—then she would eventually get them all killed, their mangled synthetic bodies tossed into this town's version of disposal pits.  

     The Cloaked Man spoke again.  "Listen up.  Do you think you can kill all of these town's inhabitants?  Each and every one?  There must be thousands of citizens in Fusion City.  Thousands, Alia.  And we just have trouble with just a dozen e-cops."  He looked at Coach.  "And, I get the impression that Coach pretty much runs this town.  I mean, him being so busy over at that Administrative Control place so often must mean something, legal or otherwise…"

     Coach smiled and turned away from the team of e-cops that crowded out and surrounded that little cyborg over there.  He looked to the right side of the room, looked at the man in the cape.  _Damn that jerk's mouth, he thought, but he smiled a smile with his big chubby face.           _

     The Cloaked Man looked that fat man in the eyes—both his metal eye and his real one.  But he addressed Alia.  "Anyway, Alia, with Coach running town, how could we be allowed to buy another gynoid if we made him angry?  We can't just ride on back to Brunswick and get ourselves another Eurasian model—one that exactly fits our…_destiny_."

     Still steeply surrounded, but still feeling anger-heated, Alia took in The Cloaked Man's reasoning.  Yes, Alia wanted to _fight to kill.  She wanted to sink her fists and feet into the bodies of her enemies.  Then, when they were knocked down, she wanted to beat and beat and __beat their chests until the life support systems in their chests ruptured—and the circulatory fluids came out.  Oh yes, she wanted the warm and deeply delicious taste of human blood.  _

     And yet, choosing to fight here and now would—logically—mean her death.  It would mean the end of their quest.  It would be the end of her people, as well.  As if the War had not already killed all of them, save her alone.

     Fighting here was suicide.  She sat in the chair again.  Still feeling darkened by anger, words were difficult to form.  "I _yield_ for now.  For _now, not forever."  __And give me chance enough to kill something, Coach._

     The Cloaked Man crossed his arms.  "All right now, Coach-man, what do you think you want from us?  We're just three people passing through and by, trying to get somewhere out there.  But your over-sized cyber-thugs chose to attack us, and you come by in your thug-mobile and kidnap us.  Then, you execute one of _our party members just to keep __your people happy.  This is all wrong…  I think it is very wrong."  The Cloaked Man's tone of voice darkened, his face did as well—showing a type of low anger Alia never saw before in that member of her party.  "Very, deeply and seriously…wrong…" he finally said._

     As The Cloaked Man said this, there were slight signs of things not feeling right.  First, Coach could feel the hair on his real arm beginning to go on end and tingle all over, before he began to feel slight tingles over the rest of himself.  The room felt slightly hotter along with that slight tingling sensation.  The biggest bit of oddness was the breeze that blew throughout the room, a breeze that smelled sulfur-tinged. 

     But the windows were all closed!  And the air filtration systems were flawless, always filtering out airborne impurities.  There should not have been a breeze at all, especially not a sulfur-tinged one.  That eerie breeze through this closed (_Closed, damn it_!) room made everyone in the room feel as if they were outside and very vulnerable.

     Coach's smile faded as The Cloaked Man's smile widened.  The Cloaked Man _knew something_ about that breeze.  And now, The Cloaked Man leaned forward, pulled his cape out from where he sat on it—draped the length of the red cloth behind his seat.  When he did that, there was an increased feeling of that _wrongness in the air.  Whatever The Cloaked Man was doing, Coach wanted him to stop.  Otherwise, Coach would drop sick with an inexplicable and very irrational sense of fear.      _

     Forcing his mouth to stretch, Coach put his hands on his wide gut and said, "Hey hey!  Waddaya want?  Huh?  Nobody wants troublemakers in this town!  Nobody!  Never!  Everybody in Fusion City just wants everything to be nice and neat, everything pretty and beautiful.  

     "When troublemakers and ruckus-makers like yaselves come on in here, makin' a damned public fuss, the law says to fix'em.  That's what the people want, so that's what the people get."

     Alia spoke, her voice wind-soft.  "Would some e-cop take steps to the side?  You standing in the way hinders speech…" Two e-cops moved to the side, and they no longer blocked Alia's view of Coach.  Gray knees together, clenched metal hands in her solid lap, she said, "Then, what of just what passed?  For a mass of citizenry obsessed with peace and beauty, their attitudes regarding entertainment remain base—and ugly.  Why destroy people for pleasure, if this society seeks extremes in decency?  Self-contradiction.  Contradiction exemplified with the person destroyed just now."

     Coach shook his head.  "_Person__?  Did ya say, __person?__  Are ya __whacked or something, kid?  The only thing that got destroyed was a gynoid.  Pshaw, that was just a toy, kid.  Get over it."_

    "Van was _friend, not __possession," said the small blonde cyborg, her small sharp face very serious.  "Friends have worth for who they are, not _what _they are.  Should it matter what type of body contains her spirit?  What bigotry sets it as so synthetic people become non-people?  _

     "No, I answer for you, answer through your own hateful ideology:  _Your bigotry sets an answer for you.  You distinguish personhood for humans, not for robots.  Perhaps, you have difficulty classing cyborgs."  She tilted her head to the side—the length of her pale hair spreading as so the machinery of her slender neck was exposed.  _

     Coach had to struggle a bit to talk, feeling some after-results of whatever The Cloaked Man temporarily induced.  "I gotta tell ya, in plain talk:  That's the way things are.  Imagine somethin' different.  What would happen if we let robots be people in Fusion City?  A robot ain't even a real person.  How's somethin' that came out of a fabrication plant gonna be a _person?  Robots like gynoids ain't nothin' but appliances done up to look like really pretty girls."_

     Leaning relaxed in his chair, The Cloaked Man spoke.  "But Coach, you don't get it.  We need one of those appliances.  We need one, a Eurasian one because…"  The Cloaked Man thought of those dreams, thought of the three cards he saw in them.  Would he tell that fat jerk about it?  No freaking way!  

    Coach began to say something.  The Cloaked Man gave him a look.  Sweat again began to build on Coach's brow.

     The Cloaked Man spoke on.  "Thought so.  Now look, we just need a gynoid as part of our plan to get to where we're going.  So let us buy another one—or at least let us salvage the thought processors.  Then we'll be out of your city, and we'll never come back.  That, or I'll have to…  Heh, heh, heh…" 

That was when The Cloaked Man decided to shake everyone up just a bit.  He…_reached back and brushed his cape, and there was then a frightful and nauseating  thrill throughout the room that had everyone suddenly very uneasy.  It was something, not quite electricity.  No, what The Cloaked Man radiated felt like a kind of intense and probably deadly nuclear radiation on an emotional level: warming, sickening and intense_.   

_     Coach, intensely feeling The Cloaked Man's partially revealed true presence, was in a bind of his own doing.  If he replaced their gynoid and let the troublemakers off, then that wouldn't be right.  Fusion City was his city, and nobody stages fights outside of the Arena—nobody.  He had to make an example of one of them, so he had their robot smashed and cut up in the ring.  Big deal!  _

     Big deal with this scary and creepy guy with the weird cape.  Coach knew that there was something beyond just that cape-and-casual-wear; there was something very wrong with that man.  Deep-placed human feelings—the same feelings that made primitive humanity and modern little children afraid of the dark—made Coach plenty wary of The Cloaked Man. 

_     What to do?  Yield to demands and get a kink in his power over the inhabitants of his city?  Or, try to punish those two and face whatever trouble that the man with the cape would do?  Did he want to find out?   There had to be a way out of this, between breaking down and letting the troublemakers have their way, or not breaking down and watching that caped guy do…things_.  __

_     He had an answer, hoped it would work.  Then, conscious of the still-harder effort to talk, he talked anyway._  "Tell ya what, folks.  Ya want yerselves a new robot-girl.  I want you three to pay for breakin' one of my city's prime laws.  So let's deal."  _He turned away from everyone in the room, looking out at the vast crowded Arena—where the next scheduled match was going to happen, then continued._  "Youse two agree to fight two opponents, win, and I'll get the disposal folks to fix up that robot of yours instead of dumping it.  Damned troublesome to do, refurbishing a trashed gynoid, but they'll do it."  _He said that and tried not to vomit._

_     Alia crossed her arms and legs—sounds of metal across metal.  She looked at Coach._  "I agree to terms presented.  As for my other present party member, his will is _certainly_ his own."__

_     The Cloaked Man grinned.  He did that, and…_the feeling of oddness and wrongness in the room…went away.  No more odd and sickening feeling.  Everyone breathed better,  especially Coach.  But, The Cloaked Man went on breathing as he always was.  

     He said, "If Alia agrees to that scheme, Coach, then I guess I'd better do so, too."  He looked at Alia, then winked.  Alia saw and felt that _peculiar_ _something_ in that wink.  

     As Coach sealed the deal with The Cloaked Man (and wanted him to be the first put at risk), The Cloaked Man would be the first one in the Fighting ring.  He came down in the elevator and was taken through a gated aisle.  That immense and dark crowd was all around.  At least, the crowd seemed dark; the roof sealed away the sky, and there was little real lighting save the now-harsh halogen-arc lamps glaring into the ring.  

     Finally, The Cloaked Man's escorts—two mid-sized pasty-pale  men in coveralls—brought him to the open entrance of the ring.   He stared.  If their gynoid could be beaten there, then what about him?  

     One of the men in coveralls slowly shook his head, seeing The Cloaked Man's hesitation.  "Well, go on in.  The crowd's waiting!  Don't make them wait for the rest of the day.   People have to work tomorrow.  They can't stay here overnight!"

     "Besides, guy," said the second man in coveralls, "It's too late to turn chicken."  He saw The Cloaked Man turn around to give a look.  "You know, guy, one of those extinct food-species?  Now just foul vat-grown meat?"  

     "I know that!" sputtered The Cloaked Man.   "Heck, I was there when chickens were still grown in factories.  'Chicken,' used as a metaphor, means 'cowardly.' Like, yellow-bellied.  Weak-in-the-knees.  _Sissy-like_."

     "_Whatever," chorused both the men in coveralls as they simultaneously pushed The Cloaked Man into the walled-off circular ring, then pressed the button that sealed him in.   Then there he was, walled in.   _

     He stood, heard the crowd all about him.  Their talking had increased at the fumbling entrance of the casually dressed man in red cape.   Feet slowly working, he slowly rotated, eyes looking, as he looked around, around…   

     _Thwunk!  He felt the steel floor quiver; something shook the ring, nearly knocked him off his black-shoed feet.  __What in tarnation…?  Recovering, The Cloaked Man saw __what in tarnation had dropped__ into the ring._

     It was a boxer of average height.  Six feet tall.  Seven feet, if one counted the black hair combed straight up in a radically extended crew-cut.  Muscular-shaped chest and arms, waist and thighs covered by gray boxing shorts—purple shoes.  It looked like an ordinary prizefighter…  Well, _ordinary _if one overlooked the fact that its "skin" was blue-painted metal, and the eyes were plain white ceramic receptors.  His name was painted on his back:  _L-Timmy GS.    _

     The blue robotic boxer brought its gloved fists close to its chest, then did a sort of dancing hop over to The Cloaked Man—who since raised his own fists.  Closer, one could see its plain and pupilless eyes.

     _They can't be serious, said The Cloaked Man.  The thing looks like an oversized kid's toy!  No wait, they _must_ be serious; why else was it in the ring with him—for oatmeal preparation?  "Hey robot, I can't be sure if I can take you seriously!  You look pretty cheap!  In that you look inexpensive, what if I just bought you outright?"_

     "I will knock your head off," said L-Timmy GS, his voice surprisingly high-pitched.  That voice seemed more fitting a 21st century animated cartoon character instead of a fighting machine.

     The Cloaked Man spread his arms, his face sneering with contempt.  "Knock my block off with _what_, those big-and-fluffy boxing mitts of yours?  You wind-up factory-made bastard, I'll blast you so hard that even packets of oatmeal will want to be near your broken ass!" answered The Cloaked Man.  "So don't count on oatmeal.  It is notoriously unreliable, anyway.  Like leather belts, uninsulated wire, and bicycle locks exposed to rain." 

     L-Timmy GS truly tried to process those remarks; his limited artificial intelligence—primarily limited to boxing routines—could not quite extract meaning from those statements.  So, the blue boxing robot gave the default answer to anything he could not compute.  "Shut up."

     The Cloaked Man grinned.  "What?  'Shut up'?  That the best comeback you have programmed?  Hee hee hee!  Hmph.  _En guarde, __tete de merde!"     _

     As soon as he said that, that robot dashed at The Cloaked Man, swung a big right fist.  Just barely, The Cloaked Man brought up both forearms—and was _knocked five yards to the right.  He thudded onto his back, then managed to get up again.  _

     "Didn't hurt!  Didn't hurt!  Nyaah nyaah!" he said, now way over there.  Then, up and ready again, The Cloaked Man took a powered stride forward and bent his feet downward in mid-stride.  The result was him sliding along on tip-toes, his cape fluttering behind him. 

     It was such a graceful and prolonged movement that it seemed The Cloaked Man was gliding.  At the end of the graceful slide, he swung with his right fist—sparks exploding from the punch to L-Timmy GS's face.  A fierce and sparking hit!  

     The robot spun, then _thunked to the ground.  Lying there for some seconds, it then put its fists to the metal floor.  It shoved with its arms, bringing it up to a standing position again.  The Cloaked Man chortled.  _

     In a flash, it turned to The Cloaked Man.  "Shut up," said L-Timmy GS.  To drive in the statement, its fists moved very quickly—two blur-speed jabs to this synth-fleshed cyborg's tee-shirted chest.  The Cloaked Man staggered back, struggling to take a breath into his artificial lungs.  

     Swaying slightly on his feet, he shook his head.  Everything was _becoming…dreamy.  The lights above were white smears—bright blobs that wobbled gently all around.  And this whole ring seemed a smear.  It was like being on a big, soft, white plate.  Everything becoming soft and warm.  A tall blue blob with gray at its center was coming to greet him._

_     The Cloaked Man fully exhaled, then yanked in a breath.  _All came…_back into focus.  All into focus, even the blue robot that smacked him in the chest.  Another blow like that could take him out of the game!_

     _Not going to put me __to sleep today, thought The Cloaked Man.  He re-tightened his fists, and his cape fluttered—and crackled.  Crackled for minutes more, small jagged florescent blue streaks moving along his cape.  Charging up…_

     L-Timmy GS did a one-two punch combination, both punches _thumping into The Cloaked Man's chest—feeling his own titanium sternum and ribs flexing to withstand the blows.  But with cape still rippling and crackling with building static charge, managed to rigidly withstand the blows.  _

     The Cloaked Man put his right fist in his left hand, making for a double fist.  Cape crackling, he swung straight up.  On impact with the opponent, The Cloaked Man's  double fist became hidden in an explosion of blue sparks. 

     L-Timmy GS flew up and away from the impact with its blue chest blasted open—the  shiny gray shorts flapping.  When it landed against the far side of the circular ring, smoke hissed from its jagged body, the words _shut up _no longer coming out of his mouth tonight.  

     The Cloaked Man brought down his fists from that attack.  Hands numb and weak, cape calmed again, he next made slow steps over to his fallen opponent.  Yes, the robot was downed.  Its chest components blasted—energy systems fried.  The match was over.

     The wall opened, and six janitors came in.  They quickly and efficiently used push brooms to sweep up the bits of metal and debris from the blasted robot.  Hands on the broken blue robot's ankles and under the hard armpits, they carried it out of the ring.  And then they were gone—the ring closed again. 

     The people of the crowd raised their right fists in the air.  They lowered the fists, then raised their fists again—again.  Beating the air.  Thousands of people beat the air, making for an immense sound of an Arena-sized heart.  It was a filling and sound.  It made The Cloaked Man feel strengthened just a bit.  

       He nearly felt that slightly gained strength leave him as they lowered his _next opponent into the ring.  Coach, that jerk!  He said that he and Alia had to fight two matches.  But, he didn't say that they each had to fight __one after another!  The Cloaked Man needed rest and recovery, needed time for his autorepair systems to do him some needed healing!  _

     Too bad, because he wasn't going to get any recovery time.  His next opponent was readied and being brought into the ring:  the nine-foot, immense-bodied metal 

beast-monster that destroyed Van.  Lowered on a metal cable, The Cloaked Man could see that the chest area was shinier than the rest of the thing's body; they must have used nanobot solution to quick-repair it from the surface damage the gynoid caused before…  

     The ABD's wide feet came down with a _thunk_, and it spread its pole-sized machine-arms:  three-tined metal claw for the right arm, massive hammer for the left hand.  Around, the crowd noticeably silenced.  Though, they did not have to quiet down much for The Cloaked Man to hear the ABD then clomping in his direction.  

     Sure, beat that thing, and he could ride away.  Ride out and away from this city.  Never come back.  Alia, The Cloaked Man, and their replaced gynoid could just ride out. 

     Not now!  The ABD was just three yards from him.  At eye level, The Cloaked Man could see its now-shiny chest.  And now, he could hear that thing powering up for a finishing blow.  Maybe he could stop it?

     He clenched his left hand, some sparks dancing along the fist.  Then he punched, his fist rebounding from the metal monster's chest with a _clunk.  That made the troll-like machine shake just a bit._

     But the return-attack was vicious.  The metal monster's machine-hammer whooshed, heavily _thumping _into The Cloaked Man's chest—knocking him knocked off of his black-shoed feet.  He crash-landed onto his back, his chest already taking plenty of trouble tonight…  

     Still lying, he now knew that his artificial lungs were no longer working—and he suspected his heart-pump failed.  Then he _knew_ his heart-pump failed all he saw and knew became coated in a warm darkness that overtook him, everything going soft and nice while a gentle breeze blew across the scene, then…

     Coach had to radio the janitors, declaring the defeat of that particular caped competitor.   Then the coverall-wearing janitors came hustling into the Fighting ring amidst the bustling sound of the talking crowd all around.   The hook came down from the high ceiling to take out the powered-down ABD.  Some janitors did the customary sweeping for debris, though there really was none.  Others helped position the hook into the ABD's back to get it out of here and into the repair pit.

     They would have carried out The Cloaked Man's broken self, but they couldn't.  After the ABD was taken out, all six of the pale men in coveralls came over to where that weird guy fell, his life-support systems shut down.  Where he fell, and never got up again.  

     "Indeedy-roo, damnedest thing!" said one janitor.  "Almost never happened around here before!"  He looked at his colleagues.  "Never in the history of the Arena, I'd say!  What do you all think of this?"

     "I'm guessing and all, but I'd say his autorepair systems backfired.  He was probably eaten up by his body's own malfunctioning supply of nanobots," said another janitor.  "All of that dangerous energy he blasted around with, and somethin' _had to go wrong._

     "Guess we'll tell Coach that," said the third.  He looked down at where The Cloaked Man fell.  Now, there was just a faint outline of singed grayness.  _Where the Hell did that weird guy in the cape go?  Did he just up and leave?  The third janitor shrugged, then he walked out of the Fighting ring with the other five.  They would repaint that part of the ring later—after this afternoon's final match.  _

     And what was up with the big air currents?  Something wrong with the air vents?  They'd have to handle that after close-up, too.  

     Alia's dark eyes were wide, her small mouth just as open.  She watched all that passed on the monitor.  _He vanished away, she thought.  __The Cloaked Man, so defeated that even his body faded.  Her small mouth was also wide open.  __Yet, noble to the end of his fight.  _

     Coach came up behind Alia.  He put a hand on the back of her chair.  "Sorry 'bout that, kid.  Guess your big buddy vaporized, or somethin'.  But what a way to go!  Never seen anything like _that.  Sure had a lot of energy, an __awful lot."  His voice went quieter, more serious.  "Probably, that much energy caused'em to go out like that.  Not even his ashes are left."_

     Coach saw the petite cyborg's head tilt downward, ash-blonde hair falling to the sides of her face.  She breathed heavily.  He lifted his hand from the chair's back, then reached both hands to touch her small gray shoulders… "You touch me at risk, murderous showman."

     He jerked back.  Whoo, touchy little thing!  "Murderous?  Now, now!  No need to be nasty.  Just tryin' to be friendly, that's all," he said.  "Ya lost ya friend and ya robot.  And you're upset.  I can _see that.  But remember, youse all were the ones that started this in the first place.  Nobody forced ya to come into my city.  Ya could've kept goin' to wherever you were goin', travelers.  Ya could have stayed away and __not have broken my city's laws—which got ya into this trouble." _

     Alia went silent.  Admittedly, she had similar thoughts earlier.  Didn't tell anyone, though.  What _had brought them to this too-beautiful but too-strange city, to begin?  Just seeing another settlement on the horizon—another city other than Brunswick—was enough to draw her here.  That this other city existed at all out here in the plains meant something to her; she __had to come here with her other party members.     _

     One of the e-cops in here looked through the windows Coach looked through earlier.  "Coach, the crowd'll get restless soon.  We need to get the next match started."

     "Yeah, yeah.  I know, I know," he said.  "Tell the boys to start lowerin' the ABD into the ring."  The e-cop went out of this room.  Coach turned back to Alia.  "Okay, little girl, showtime.  Time for ya to finish what yer friend and toy robot-girl done started.  Unless ya wanna _quit_ the deal.  And then, I guess we'll have to _reform ya after all.  Can ya dig it?"_

     Alia slowly took in a breath, as much breath as her artificial lungs could take.  Then slowly and hissingly let it out.  There was truly nothing else for her to do.  Quitting would get her nothing—nothing but that brain mutilation and modification called _reform reform.  Her brain would be sliced, electrocuted, forced hypno-reeducation…  _

     Not only would that be the end of her, but the end of so much more.  Her brain was the only thing left real about her, all she had left of her biological heritage.  The rest of her was absolutely replaced with well-shaped and well-engineered polymers, and metal.  If her brain was altered by machines, then the last authentic vestige of her—and also people—were finally dead, forever.  The last elfin being dying in _this_ place.

     She stood, standing before the video monitors.  She then turned from those monitors, the monitors that showed both of her party members being defeated.  Head down, she said, "I will do what must be done."   Then, turning her head up, she gave Coach an extremely intense look.  Such a look that he thought that something must be burning deep within her dark ceramic eyes.  

     On ground-level, two janitors—janitors with large electromechanical hands—walked Alia through the gated aisle and to the Fighting ring.  And this being the last match for today, the crowd shouted and cheered with loudness.  The citizens closest to the gated aisle saw who, or _what, was being escorted into the ring; they cheered even louder:  That looked like an authentic War antique being moved to the ring!  A metal-type cyborg!  Pretty small, but still damned exciting.  A War antique, right here in the__ Arena!  First a gynoid that put up a real fight, then a guy with overcharged energy systems, now a real metal-type cyborg!_

     The ABD was already in the ring, immobile, when Alia came in.  And the crowd became very quiet.  They seldom saw competitors so small.  Four feet tall, the petite metal-bodied competitor with pale-blonde hair and a small, round face.  She was so small that she was barely seen by those in the and further back seats.  

    Too bad, it was probably the last time they would get to see her—unless the network was recording this match.  The ABD had beaten _two unusual opponents in surprise matches.  Its programmers were that good.  _

     Alia did not care for the crowd.  She did not care for their cheering, or their condemnation, _or_ their extremely intense and burning scrutiny of her, intense under the bright lights from overhead.  

     Her darkened eyes were solely on the gigantic metal troll-beast across the ring.       This was to be the match.  The so-far undefeated ABD over on the far side of the ring, powering up and ready.  Alia alone on this side of the ring, preparing herself. 

     Alia stood, looking at the ABD and judging weak points.  It was probably doing the same to her, looking her over for places to strike.  She felt a slight air current play with loose strands of her neck-length hair—brush across the warm "skin" of her face.  Such was a time to begin the conflict.  

     She pulled back her right fist, held it close to her right ear.  Leaned forward, then she _ran.  There were slight and rapid sounds as her armor bootlets pattered.  Very quickly, without stopping, she did a long leap—then __struck the ABD with momentum to compound her attack, hitting the ABD in the center of its abdomen.  There she stayed, in fact, attached to the thing.  Her fist was actually sunk into the metal monster's body; she stayed attacked to the ABD with her body above the floor._

     That was exactly where Van had struck the ABD earlier that day.  Now, Alia closed her left hand—charging for a powered blow.  She heard the sounds of the ABD powering up, but she continued to charge her left arm, letting her anger build and preparing for a murderous strike.

     Then, the ABD began to react.  It raised its right arm—long carbon-alloy claws gleaming.  It brought the claw down very quickly, and the petite cyborg on its chest tried to leap away, but the critical blow still struck her forehead.

     She went _down_, fallen on her side.  Beneath her splayed and almost inhumanly pale hair, her damaged forehead showed.  An exposed inch-wide diagonal strip of gleaming gray skull beneath.  

     Indeed, the actual titanium skull beneath was actually undamaged!  All the same, the blow put her in a daze that she just now recovered from.  After she realized that she was still alive, she heard machine-whirring sounds as the left metal foot of the machine-monster came up, above her, ready to stomp her into nothingness…

     Alia rolled away.  And her left arm was still charged.  In a single movement, Alia was up again and to the side of the ABD's raised left foot.  With an immense feeling of strength and release, she finally lashed out with her charged left arm…  _Clunk!  Then everything seemed to stop.   _

     The crowd was quiet.  They were all very, very quiet.  Short of breathing and the very distant sounds of the air-circulating vents, no one spoke.  Even those in the backmost seats could see what happened.  They saw that _that little cyborg actually had her left fist sunk into the abdomen of an ABD.  And, those closer could see the look of pale serenity on her deeply cut face as she held her leaned-forward position._

     There were slight grinding sounds as she pulled her fist from within the body of the tremendous ABD.  When she did, a plume of dark gray smoke gushed from the resultant cracked hole.  It was a rigid machine—a broken one.  And yet more smoke came from that hole.

     She heard a sound of fluttering cloth from above.  There were quick movements of air and cloth.  Everything _exploded, and she saw a rippling flow of dark red when she flew back from the violent blast.  The very next thing she knew,  she was on her back—seeing nothing but the distant lights through deep redness…_

     _Whoo-hoo!  That was so-o-o-o __cool! she thought she heard from the right.  __Damn, almost didn't make that that one, she also thought she heard.  Alia suspected that her wounded brain must be giving auditory hallucinations to ease her into her oncoming death, final words and random thoughts of comfort—even if the hallucination was brash and obnoxious.   __What a blast….  Hee hee hee… continued the voice._

     "A blast!  Okay, tou can get your titanium butt up now," said the voice that was _really there.  Then the covering redness went away from her vision, and she saw the high up lights of the Arena.  "You can sleep later!"  She then saw The Cloaked Man stand up and above her.  He smiled as he shoved the length of his cape to his back, then reached down to her, using his right hand.  _

     _Belief is enough trust, she thought.  She put her hand in his, then he pulled her—helping her to her feet.  It truly was The Cloaked Man.  And, somehow, he came back from wherever he was… _

     "Yeah, I had to come back from the breeze to shield you with my cape!" he said to her.  He tousled her silken polymer hair, and she ducked away, then carefully stroked it back into place with her solid fingers.   "Guess you're _damned lucky, kiddo!" _


	7. Dream Chapter 7...

City of Slow Dreams:  Chapter 7  (by Elliot Bowers)

     The din of the crowd strengthened, _loudened_.  Janitors came piling into the Fighting ring, a dozen pasty skinned men of uniform height and build, all in blue coveralls and blue hats.  Some of them stood before the wild-haired and sinewy man in casual wear and cape, looked at and regarded this four-foot synthetic-headed cyborg-girl.  Both of those two oddities stood in the Fighting ring, stood to be perused.  

     The Cloaked Man put on an immense toothy grin and crossed his arms, standing straight and proud.  "Heh heh heh heh…"  he chuckled through that grin, taking in the pride from the crowd.  Oh yes, he knew that the crowd was looking at him; he _felt them.  This, and some of the Arena janitors were giving him close-up looks.  He was a __champ!_

    By his side, Alia resentfully ignored the loud and pretentious din of the crowd.  Resentful, because The Cloaked Man was being himself again, letting his ego and weirdness take him away from their own goal of _getting out of here_.  

     She took steps, stood in front of that tall grinning caped man—seeing him swelled with pride.  "Cloaked Man, pride bolsters confidence, but large doses are hazardous to body and mind!" she tried to say above the crowd's loudness.  "Such is truth for any intoxicant!"

     He still grinned.   Seeing that he failed to heed her, she moved yet closer.  Stood as close as she could without arching the mechanisms of her neck too far.    

     The synthetic flesh of her fine-featured face bent in annoyance, her dark eyes indignant.  "_Cloaked Man…!"  she shouted, pulling back her right hand as if to reach up and slap him.  And finally, he looked._

     "_What's that, kiddo?" he asked, loud above the surrounding people-noise.  "Oh I heard.  You don't like the crowd, huh?  You're being a Little Miss Introvert!"   He reached down to put his right hand on her shoulder.   He looked at her, then looked left, using his free hand to gesture to the crowd.  "But just look at all that!  They __love us.  Coach was right about the crowd!  I went into the breeze to recover, and I __had to come back for them!  The breeze was where I went when I was going and leaving, because it is where people come when they go away, dig it?"_

     Alia tried to extract sense from that spate of rant.  _Went into…the breeze? _The Cloaked Man  went into what he called _the breeze.  _But, upon his return, perhaps his thoughts still remain wherever he went—wherever that was.  _Where did you go, Cloaked Man?  You make me wander in wonder…_

_      When she just thought of that question, The Cloaked Man looked back down at her.  His smile wilted, face becoming serious.  Now there was that __something again in his look—the _something_ that was a hint of the feeling The Cloaked Man invoked during those last negotiations with Coach._

     Alia felt emotionally gripped by that gaze.  Caught in that gaze, she felt feelings.  She felt saddened, felt more miserable, felt slightly angered…  A mix of negative and dark emotions.  And she knew, she _knew_, that those feelings came from the spirit of The Cloaked Man.  There was more to him than she knew…     

     Holding her with that darkened look of his, he brought down his left hand.  Fingers of that hand then carefully touched the center of her damaged forehead, the split in her synthetic flesh made by the ABD.

     Alia pursed her lips, and she finally had strength enough to turn her head from The Cloaked Man's gaze.  Doing so also detached his probing touch.  This touching, this _caressing_, she did not need it.  So _he_ took a step away.  Fine! 

     One janitor approached, breaking into Alia's entranced state.  Using practiced ease, the janitor spoke loudly with articulation and ease.  "_You two, Coach wants you.  Time for tradition.  Don't keep him and that waiting."  __ That said, the two were escorted out of the grand Fighting ring, janitors close by and following.  _

     This, and other janitors set to work removing the remains of the ABD.  They had to use the cable to remove the main hulk, then used shovels and wheelbarrows to port away the scattered chunks from the explosion.  This was standard procedure, though that last match was certainly not standard.  

     An eclectic entourage went through the gated aisle that led to and away from the ring:  three janitors, a short blonde cyborg and a six-foot casually dressed man with that cape.  The gated aisle let to that elevator over at the end.  Them inside, the gleaming gray doors closed.

     Inside this elevator, the doors closed—and the sound of the crowd was much reduced.  The Cloaked Man's grin faded.  He suddenly missed the blast of their cheering.  _Oh well…   _

     In the periphery of his sight, his staring at the elevator doors, The Cloaked Man noticed Alia staring at the silvery wall—twiddling her solid fingers.  _Fidgeting_, the cyborg-girl was _fidgeting_, like the little girl she believed she wasn't.  He then looked down to ascertain this.  Then Alia turned, looked up to meet his gaze.  She very quickly made a down-pointing gesture with her right hand, then went back to looking at the wall—sans fidgeting. The Cloaked Man understood the gesture.  This elevator was not going back up to the viewing office; this elevator was going down.   Where, he did not know.  

     When the doors did open, they revealed the next location—underground.  Down here was a wide florescent-lit underground space—a parking lot, dozens of new cars parked throughout.  There was a brief car-honk from the right.  That was the metal-colored limousine, e-cops around it.  The rearmost left door was open.  

     The Cloaked Man looked around, saw everyone looking at the limousine.  He looked around again, left and right, looking at the size of this underground space.  Just to irritate everyone down here, he made one more visual sweep of the place.  When one of the 

e-cops by the limousine broke away from his comrades, approaching Alia and The Cloaked Man, The Cloaked Man nodded and moved in the direction of that long vehicle.  No, no, he did not need to be manhandled (or cyborg-handled) again.  Yes, yes, he would come along for the ride.

     They prodded him into the limousine, through that rearmost door.  He hunched over to get in.  Inside this part of the limousine—the rearmost passenger compartment—was like a beige-carpeted living room in miniature—with soft cushion seats back and front, a round coffee table in the middle.  

     Hands on her slim metal arms, Alia was firmly seated to the right of The Cloaked Man.   One of those trench-coated and strictly dressed e-cops came hunchingly in right after her.  The size difference was almost comic:  petite cyborg elf-girl aside a trench-coated and well-muscled giant.  

     Well, well, well…  Coach was already in here, his bulky and gray clothed form relaxed—legs stretched and big arms across the top of his side of the compartment.  He nodded to Alia and Van.  He flopped up his right hand in greeting.  "Hi to ya both!" said the big man.  He then snapped the fingers of his metal hand, his left, and the limousine began to move.  

     The long luxury vehicle gently rumbled up and out of the underground parking area.  What was interesting was how the passenger windows darkened, and the ceiling-mounted lamp came on.  The Cloaked Man never noticed that feature before, the windows self-darkening.  This made the space inside seem more insulated and private.  But it was now impossible to tell where they were going or how late in the day it was.  Given their prolonged straight movements, movements that were punctuated by very slow turns, they were likely riding through the lanes and streets of downtown Fusion City. 

     Alia's anger at her recent rough treatment was now dampened with curiosity at this part of Coach's limousine.  This was a vehicle of luxury, a vehicle of pampering.  For her tastes, it was _too_ pampering.  Before, she rode in the more functionary front seats.  Now, this was a spacious and generous place of the vehicle.  If too generous.  Luxury was in excess:  She had to shift her back and hips to keep her small body from sinking too far into the cushioned seats.    

     The Cloaked Man had nothing to say, for a radical change.  Instead, he was also curious—just looking around.  His mouth scrunched when he saw that something was tucked in the left armrest, something thin tucked in the sliver of space between armrest cushion and door.  He took it.

     It was a pamphlet.  It had information on Fusion City, about the perfection and beauty of the citizens.  And he noticed Coach was looking at him.  Well, Coach wouldn't mind him reading this…        

     Coach cut into The Cloaked Man's thoughts, speaking.  "Folks, I gotta admit, that had to be one of the sweetest set of surprise matches _ever!"  He saw that weird man give the hidden pamphlet to the elfin-faced little cyborg.    If I didn't have that video-recorded, then nobody ain't gonna believe it after tonight." _

     Taking the proffered pamphlet from The Cloaked Man, Alia unfolded it, began reading it while he spoke to Coach.  The length of her pale hair curtained the sides of her face as her head was tilted down in perusal.  The expression on her synthetic face could not be seen, but the rigidity of her metal body indicated intense interest.  Interest that suddenly grew with each part of the pamphlet…

     The Cloaked Man had to say something.  He did.  "Oh yeah, yeah…  Glad to know that you're interested in our fighting styles, Coach.  Didn't expect that crowd back there to give so much love, though." 

     Coach's big head bobbed up and down, smiling.  "That's right, champ!  They _loved ya!  That fight ya put up!  Blows to yer chest, a knock down, and ya __still managed to whack L-Timmy GS a good one!  The janitors'll take _weeks_ to fix him up—or will just scrap the 'bot.  Didn't know a synth-flesh like yerself had the strength, and ya just look like a middleweight."_

     The Cloaked Man smiled, waved a right hand at Coach.  "Aw shucks!  You'd make me blush if I could, all this talk of me being strong and a champ…  Well, maybe I _do_ have strength in excess.  Strength and energy powered and overpowered.  Got that much mightiness to spare and give.  Got so much to give that my opponents _have to take it.  No, they can't take it.  Because of that, my opponents go down."_

     The Cloaked Man did not know it, but he was being spied upon.  His words were being secretly recorded, then burst-transmitted, to a small subterranean workroom at the Arena.  There, amidst wall-mounted machines and worktables, blue-clothed Arena techies listened carefully to The Cloaked Man's talk of being _overpowered._  With that, some of them set to work recalibrating a certain gynoid.  It would be ready by the time The Cloaked Man arrived.  Question was, would _The Cloaked Man _be ready?  

     Back in the limousine, The Cloaked Man ranted on.  "Going down is not one of my own favorite activities, though.  I'd prefer being dipped in oatmeal and rinsed in coffee to being defeated.  Not that I can be dipped in oatmeal against my will or anything, but the coffee sounds good.  It has to be good, because coffee must be damned good most of the time…."  

     Alia rolled her eyes.  Took in a hissing breath through her teeth.  She tried to bear with The Cloaked Man's rant.  She truly tried.  But he annoyed.      

     "Which reminds," he continued.  "What about serving coffee to the champs and bicyclists?  If there are no bicyclists in Fusion City, then make some.  Begin recruiting people by using paper envelopes and…"

     Coach tried to stay with the twisting and weaving wordiness of The Cloaked Man's rant.  Instead, he just decided to cut through and ask a question outright.  "Hey, about goin' down…  How'd ya _come_ _back_?  We thought ya was…_dead_.  Vanished and…  I dunno, _vaporized.  Maybe yer autorepair systems backfired, or yer energy systems overloaded?  What happened?"_

     The Cloaked Man tilted his head forward, looking at Coach from a slant.  "What, Coach-man, you really don't know about going in the breeze?  All of that time running the Fighting ring and running an entire city of people…  What do you want, Alia?"  Alia had nudged his elbow when The Cloaked Man said _people.  _

     He saw that she was probably reacting to something she was reading in that pamphlet, and he continued to talk.  "Anyway…   Coach, you _don't know about what's in the breeze?  I mean, the _breeze_ is all around.  It blows across all the land, and people experience it indirectly.  It's like an ambiance, only a bit more pervasive.  I can't explain it fully, but I can understand it." _

     Coach slightly shook his head, listening to some more of The Cloaked Man's crazy talk.  "Nah," said Coach, "can't say I do know about what's in this _breeze_ yer talkin' about.  What are ya really talkin' about, airborne energy or somethin' for full-body autorepairs?"  That theory sounded whacked to even himself, but it was what he could come up with.  

     The Cloaked Man smiled.  "The breeze as airborne energy?  Hmm…   You _could_ say something like that, regarding the breeze.  Ha ha….  Airborne energy.  There's more than that in the _breeze_, though.  But I'm not going to tell you.  Oh no, that would be ruining surprises for yourself."

     For some seconds in this part of the limousine, there was nothing but the very slight and faint sound of distant engine rumble as they motored along the street.  Coach looked at the e-cop seated with those two over there; the e-cop shrugged his shoulders.  Coach opened his mouth to inquire, but The Cloaked Man cut him off.       

     "By the byway, didn't we have a deal?  When are we going to get our refurbished gynoid?" asked The Cloaked Man.  He then draped his right arm around Alia's armor-solid shoulders.  "What about little Alia here, too?  Her pretty little face was, like, _mutilated.  A split on her forehead.  And her face was somewhat expensive—by Brunswick standards.  It is a shame.  Yes, a _shame _that a little girl's face is scarred before she reaches adulthood… _

     "Wait a minute, wait and never mind that, never mind what I just ranted and listen why.  Why am I talking about her as if she's human?  Not human, she's never going to grow up.  But anyway, when are we going to get the rewards of victory?"

     Coach gave a nod.  "I got ya.  A deal's a deal."  The wide-bodied man then leaned right to press a button on the nearest armrest.  "Yeah, Benny…  Take us over to Fusion Central, will ya?  Guess we'll leave _Brennan's Pub for another day."  _

     That is, he instructed the driver to take them to Fusion City Central Hospital.  A few more turns, and the limousine was en route in that new direction.  Twenty minutes of this new route, and they were there.

     Fusion City Central Hospital was a three-story building that was wider than tall, wide enough that it alone occupied four city blocks.  People could identify the hospital by both its size and its coloring—the now-traditional faintly green tone.  Only half of its interior space and resources were immediately available for actual care of patients—real- or synthetic-bodied; the other half of the floor space was set aside for technological research, resource management and even a library.  

     The long gray limo slowed to pull up before this vast city building.  Moving with practiced ease, the driver maneuvered the long car into a reserved parking space up front:  a part of the curb defined by a long gray stripe.  By city regulations, that was Coach's parking space.  

     Seconds after the car stopped, the window on Coach's side became transparent.  "Here we are, champs!" Coach said to the two.  "Fusion City Central Hospital, best damned medical facility on the plains!  Especially the best, because we got a ward in there just to treat Arena Fighters.  If there's a better place out there, then I ain't heard about it."  He finished, then smiled directly at The Cloaked Man.  Just smiled…

     Alia had taken to stroking and probing the split in the synth-flesh of her forehead.  More so than ever, her synthetic face felt as oddly unfeeling as a mask, despite as realistic as it looked.  It felt odd, even to her.

     The Cloaked Man spoke.  "Alia, you keep picking at that head wound, and it's never going to get better!" he commented.  He then looked out the window.  "Never mind!  It's going to be made better, given the big reputation of that big building.  Right, Coach?"

     Coach spoke through his grin.  "Hell and thunder, yeah!  That cyborg's pretty little mug'll be fixed flawlessly."  He leaned forward, his voice then evening out.  "And Cloaked Man, could we…talk some business—while that metal-bodied kid of yours gets her face fixed at my hospital?"

     "Sure!  Why not!" exclaimed The Cloaked Man, ignoring Alia's indignant stare.  _Kid._  "I like to talk and then talk some more.  Gives me a chance to chant my rant, more of my jazz and pizzazz.  I can dig it!"

     The big and bulky man tapped a second button on the right seat's armrest.  An e-cop opened the limo door, opening into the afternoon-colored sidewalk before the big hospital.  Coach looked at Alia, pointed out this limo with his left hand.  "Go on in, girl, and ask to for a facial.  If ya want, tell'em I sent ya.  They'll _really_  treat ya right."

     Alia gave The Cloaked Man the pamphlet she was reading before, and he put his in his left pocket—where the pamphlet actually disappeared.  Then, not helping at all, he watched—amused—as Alia got up from the well-cushioned seat.  As the cushion was so soft, it took some conscious effort for little Alia to get up without falling over.  She did not have to hunch over too much to walk out of the limousine.  

     As the small gray-bodied figure stepped out of the vehicle and into warm afternoon daylight, she heard The Cloaked Man say behind her, "You know what?  I'm a touch worried about leaving Alia alone.  Little kids shouldn't be unsupervised, meal-bodied or not." 

     _Being called a kid!   _She _turned, fast enough that her pale hair whipped about.  There was nothing wrong with being elfin, being of a small-statured people!  So what, her synthetic physique was that of her race.  Not everyone is giant._

     Over in his limo seat, The Cloaked Man smiled out at Alia.  He raised his left hand, wriggled the fingers at her, an unsaid _See you later.  That hand closed the door, closing the limo and leaving the small cyborg out here. _

     And the limousine motored away—leaving her in the company of three red-haired nurses out from this hospital.  All of them looked perfectly alike, with their bunned hair and green caps on, all of them exactly six feet in height and with look-alike bodies.  

     Alia looked up at them, they looked back down at her, their smooth and youthful faces smiling.  To the small cyborg, there was something missing in those looks of pleasantry.  Something off-balanced.  

     "Please, come into our facilities, young miss," said the center nurse.  "We always have facilities to serve Coach's Arena Fighters."  Not waiting for an answer from the petite cyborg, the center nurse then took a step in the direction of the hospital.  Alia hesitated for the space of a step, balking at the term _young miss, then followed.  Alia wanted to correct the presumptuousness of the nurse, a continuation of the ignorance that seemed spread among the people of this city:  Alia was not a child.  Though never given a chance to mature in a real human or elfin body, her brain was alive for over a century.  _

     "Indeed," said the nurse, not at all aware of Alia's ruminations, "what you do to yourselves is sometimes tougher than what your bodies' autorepair systems can immediately undo.  We speed the process and do much more."   

     They entered through automatic doors, into a gleaming, long and vast left-to-right hallway.  In here, florescent lighting gave even tones to the clean walls.  And there was circular receptionists' desk in the middle.  In that circular reception area was a pretty woman, slender and red-haired.  She was wearing a sleeveless blouse, close-fitting green pants hidden by the height of the reception desk—a decorative dressed and made to be decorative.  Her light and slight fingers tapped away at a computer, fingers moving at an extremely rapid clip.  Not human.  

     Alia was escorted to the receptionist desk.  She stood at this side of the desk, ignoring the fingers on her armored shoulders.  Was the secretary so busy as to not handle clients?  

     No, she wasn't.  The receptionist swiveled left, then walked over to the side of the reception desk where Alia was.  Leaning over, she looked down at her.  "Ah, Coach contacted me about our little champion."  Alia imagined that the receptionist said _little_ with a bit too much emphasis.  The receptionist continued.  "I see you have a bit of damage there.  We'll have to give you a facial."  She tilted her head to the left.  "And, would you care to have any other work done?  Since Coach sent you, we could replace your brain for free.  That is, if you're worried about any…"

     "_Replace my brain?" shouted Alia, her soprano voice having surprising volume for someone—or something—so small.   "Repairs needed are merely for cosmetics, not mutilation!"  Finally, all this talk about her being _small_ and a _kid_ got to her, built her frustration.  Now, they wanted to be allowed to replace her brain!  Eyes squinting, she shouted, "_Oh, you darkened fiends!  Vex you, one and all!_"  _

     The three nurses, especially the one holding her, had nervous grins at the outburst.  And the receptionist at the desk had a grin to match.  "But sweetie, brain replacement _is a part of cosmetics.  Real brains have been out of fashion since…  Well, since as long as any of us can remember.  Wouldn't you like a sleek, clean crystal matrix instead of the soft and messy brain in your head now?"_

     _That pamphlet was truth…_ Alia thought.  She felt those nurse's hands on her shoulders, felt the hands gripping her with gynoid strength.  And now she remembered the extensive material in the pamphlet—the pamphlet in the limousine.  A person of the times, she did _not believe all she read; she did __not believe what that entertainingly bizarre pamphlet had said about this city.  Now she firmly believed the bizarre twist about the citizens.  Maybe, Alia should have retained the pamphlet—if she had metal pockets on her bare armored physique._

     Perhaps, tact and subtlety was the way to treat this.  Being resentful and spiteful could bring this hospital's security running.  She again remembered that it would not do well to make a _public disturbance.  No, that way was a sure way to having her brain mutilated by way of what they called _reformation_—if not them just replacing her brain outright.  _

     The receptionist and the three nurses behind her waited for an answer.  Alia gave one, much more calmly this time.  "No, but thanks given for the offer.  However, mere _facial repair is perfectly enough for me."  _

     The receptionist's expression now matched Alia's own controlled look.  In an 

also-kind voice, she told Alia that they would do that.  "Just a facial?  You want to keep your brain?  Well, okay…  If that's what you want.  We have specialized facilities for simple facials on this floor, nanobot synthesizers and diagnostics for that.  The nurses will take you there."  The receptionist nodded to the nurse that still gripped Alia's shoulders.  The other two nurses followed closely behind as the small cyborg was being led along the wide green hallway, left of the reception desk.  

     Alia's solid bootlets clicked audible as they walked along the hard hallway.   As they walked along, she had to look up to see the plaques on the doors.  All of them so far were marked, SIMPLE COSMETICS.  Door numbers below the plaques.  They eventually came to room SC-107 in this part of the hall.  

     It was a mid-sized and green-walled room.  Along the walls were the necessary    table-mounted white medical machines, but the center of the room had a lean-back and well-cushioned chair.  It was a design descendant of the dentistry chairs from the Old Days, resembling a seat used for dentistry patients.  But in this time period where mouth-cleaning catalysts and nanobot-containing solution are used to flawlessly clean and refurbish real or ceramic teeth, physical dentistry was a dead art, like trepanning and electroshock.  No, that reclining seat was for face repair and refurbishment—for facials.

     This would be the second time in memory that Alia had face work done.  Like in Brunswick, she sat as best she could in the oversized seat.  A nurse came close to make sure the little cyborg was comfortable.  The second nurse moved to get an elastic band,  while the third went to one of the boxy machines to synthesize a new bottle of nanobot solution.

     Alia sat up, head forward, to have her straight pale hair held back with the band.  The first nurse ran a handheld diagnostics device run Alia's electromechanical body.  The third nurse came to the seat, a pint bottle of translucent green solution in her right and a brush in her left.  Alia vaguely knew what it was.  

     The third nurse explained, "This is nanobots in standard solution.  I will just brush some solution onto your forehead, and the nanobots will rapidly do what a body's autorepair systems typically do.  But this solution will be consumed in the process."  

     Brushed onto the forehead?  This was cause for some hesitation.  Just maybe, those nanobots could be configured to eat into the titanium of Alia's skull, and the description could be just a tricking lie.  But then, the plastisteel case hold her brain itself—beneath the skull—would have time enough to activate a small tensor field.  It was similar to the tensor field that held a gynoid's crystal matrix components in their sockets.  There was no worry unless the tensor field contacts in her skull were somehow burned out and not autorepaired during her decades-long autostasis.

     The small worried cyborg let the third nurse apply a thin wet layer of the green solution.  There was some wet coolness on her forehead, and she tensed…  But no, she did not feel any sign of it eating into her head.  No triggering tensor field.  

     Seconds later, the third nurse used her bare finger to gently stroke Alia's smooth forehead.  She looked into that nurse's dark eyes.  "Hmm…  Yes," went the nurse, 

"flawlessly repaired.   You have a very pretty face, little one, did you know that?"  _Again, being little!_  The nurse tapped the tip of Alia's pert nose, and Alia tried not to snap at her.  All of this _little person_ treatment!  Being treated as a plaything and a doll, how deeply infuriating.  

    Then the nurse removed the hairband.  "By the way, the diagnostics scanner we ran over you indicated that your nanobot reservoirs and synthesizers are running below standard.  Did you know that?" voiced the second nurse.  "Your body's nanobot synthesis systems are a bit slow by modern standards, and below par for Arena Fighting.  And if you plan on fighting any more matches, shouldn't you get your autorepair systems upgraded?"

     Alia crossed her arms.  Yes, finally, they were asking her for her opinion on her own health—finally giving her the respect due a person.  "Upgrade?  That entails what?  Need you open my body?"  Her slight and light voice ever-so-slightly quivered with worry.   Did those of this hospital have resources for metal-type cyborgs?  Or, would they damage some of her vital systems in upgrading?

     "Don't you worry, little one," said the first nurse.  "We just give you an infusion of upgraded nanobots—just put it through your chest reservoir.  Some of them are used to transfer software upgrade data to your electromechanics, and the rest self-replicate to take over the function of your current nanobots.  Just an injection into the tiny hole in your chest, and there you go!  

     "But you'll have to stay here an extra ninety minutes while your autorepair systems reconfigure.  You don't want to risk any damage by accidents, so you'll just stay in here."

     Alia considered the information for some seconds.  She trusted the nurses to repair her face, her forehead.  And now, if she trusted them for one and one-half hours more, she could get an autorepair systems upgrade.  If Alia's party was going to face yet more dangers, it was likely best to have that autorepair upgrade offered.  And, it was likely that they were going to face further dangers.    

     "Then," she began, looking up at the three facsimiles in nurse uniforms, "I accept what is offered—the upgraded autorepair system," she said.  The second nurse gave a smile and nod, and all three medical workers made equipment preparations for the procedure.  

     Alia busied her worry-colored mind with thoughts of Van, wondering on about Van being or not being the same after being refurbished.  And, part of her thoughts went to how The Cloaked Man was behaving outside of her presence.  Thoughts of him going to  get their refurbished party member.

     Doing that, getting refurbished Van, was what the Cloaked Man _intended to do.   _Intention_ and _result_, though, sometimes have ways of parting.  Having driven with Coach straight from Fusion City Central Hospital, The Cloaked Man hoped to straight off go and get Van.   _

     They pulled up before a certain circular building in downtown.  Then Coach untinted the windows.  And he looked at The Cloaked Man, seated across from him in this passenger compartment of the vehicle.  "Okay, champ!  Here we are!"

     The Cloaked Man leaned forward from his seat cushion, looking outside.  He saw five janitors out there on the sidewalk.  Above and behind those janitors' hats, he could see the wide curving front of the Fighting Arena—the big round building set against the deepening blue of the afternoon sky.  

     He leaned back, spoke to Coach.  "Why in tarnation  are we here?  Didn't we agree to get Van?  Coach-man, I'm beginning to start thinking about you on the way to old-age dodderism.  Where's my robot?" 

     Coach's big soft face spread a smile, and he spoke very carefully.  "Hey guy, whaddaya mean?"  He jerked his head rightward, in the direction of the Arena.  "We're here to get what you want.  You can get a gynoid in there."  His real and metal eye tracked The Cloaked Man as he stepped out of the limousine—into the presence of the five janitors.  

     Out in the darkening end of day, The Cloaked Man fell into the suddenly close presence of the five janitors.  The first one on the left spoke.  Spoke and motioned for The Cloaked Man to go into the Arena building.    

     "Come with us, Cloaked Man.  A member of your party is waiting for you.  

Indeedy-doo, sir, it has been waiting around and about for some time."

     Feeling bolstered from that honorific _sir, The Cloaked Man walked with the five janitors into the Arena.  They went through the double doors, went left along the cavernous front hall.  Which brought them to the gleaming silvery elevator.  Which, then, brought them down to the gated aisle—and the doors opened._

     The Cloaked Man was taken through the gated aisle, the gate-lined tunnel that led to the Fighting ring.  Beyond it, he could see the glowing grayish white of the ring's flat floor and circular wall.  They were taking him into the ring!  "What in tarnation is this, a setup?" he shouted.  "It _is a freakin' setup!  I've been had!  It's all a scam!  Where's my lawyer?  I want my lawyer, and a big pitcher of damned good coffee!"  _

     The janitors did not quite know what a lawyer was.  But, The Cloaked Man's other exclamations at least revealed his emotional state—agitation.  "Hey, calm down!" said the second janitor.  "There's a gynoid over there, in the ring.  According to Coach, it's a gynoid you'd want.  Now we go through the trouble of re-using gynoid parts up just for you, tuning it up and all, and you're not even going to go get it?"

     The Cloaked Man opened his mouth to rant, then he heard _her call out to him, her calling from far over there in the ring.  "__Cloaked Man!  Please help me!  They're going to do something!"  _

     _W__hat the Hell? thought The Cloaked Man__.  He gave a glance to the janitors, saw something in their collective stare.  Those bastards planned on trapping him in the Arena.  And they were using Van as bait.  _

     He looked at the third janitor.  "Go give your haberdashers a big smiling blue box, filled with like-colored crayons.  Hard to do, since blue crayons are badasses, but try anyway, right?  Your air filters will love you for it."  And before the janitors could pick apart that statement, The Cloaked Man was off and away down the gated aisle—his cape fluttering behind his long and full stride.  

     With the speed of a wind, The Cloaked Man was in the big Fighting ring.  He whipped his head right and left, looking for Van.  There she was.  Slim Japanesque Van—dressed as before in blouse and slacks—leaned with her back and butt against the wall, hands behind her.  Her dark-haired head was tilted forward, chin on her sternum.  Her now shoulder-length dark hair obscured her face from The Cloaked Man.

     "Come on, Van!  Don't you want to be rescued?  Or are you going to lean against that all day?" he blathered.  "Not that wall-leaning is a particularly bad lifestyle, but you can go wall-leaning later." 

     "Come here," said Van, the quietness of the ring carrying her words.  "I have to tell you something."  She then made no move to make eye contact with him.  And her voice was calm and loose.

     The Cloaked Man shook his head once at this goofy behavior, then ran to her.  He  took her left hand. "Van, this is a trap!  And now they're going to do something to us!" he said.  "Let's get out of here!"  He tugged her hand once more, looked at her.  As Van's head was tilted down, his eyes met the top of her head instead of a returning look.  "Gynoid, are you listening?"

     _Clank. That was the sound of a big metal barrier slamming into place behind him.  Now unmoving, The Cloaked Man knew that the ring was sealed.  __Dang it, too late! _

     Van snatched her hand away from The Cloaked Man.  Both hands free, she calmly used them to brush and pat her into its original style, as so her hair flowed behind her ears and over her back.  This revealed her pale familiar face, her now-red ceramic eyes looking at him.  Not quite Van's original eyes…  _What did they do to her?_

     "You silly organic-brained madman, what are you ranting about?  Well, screw you through and through!  Yeah, you're in for a fierce fucking now!"  She saw The Cloaked Man back off, a look of open-mouthed shock on his red-toned face.  More angrily, she said,  "Whacked-out bastard, did I ever say I wanted to be rescued?"

     His mouth finally worked again, and he said, "Oh, _sho-o-o-ot!"  Really, with that toxic mouth, it was _not _the same gynoid they began the quest with.  Nope, this version of Van was the bait __and the trap for this particular setup.  And she had to be the trap, because she suddenly came at The Cloaked Man.  _

     He was knocked down, then back on his feet—fists up.  Fists up and angry, because betrayal was something that hurt.  The gynoid's face smiled, her new red eyes with something wicked.  "Did I hurt the synth-fleshed cyborg's feelings with my grown-up words?  Want to fuck and make up?"  She puckered her thin lips and made a _smooch sound, pumped her hips once at him.  Then she moved blur-fast again…_

     And The Cloaked Man was on his back again, cape sprawled all about, his left shoulder a bit weakened this time.  He shook his head to clear it of ringing, and he saw Van standing above him.  "Sheesh, would you _not do that again?  Hmph, and Alia thinks __I'm annoying."_

     Van raised her right fist, her dark hair wildly about her face and shoulders.  The Cloaked Man rolled to the left and out of the way, and Van's fist _slammed into the solid floor of the ring.  Still kneeling, she looked up from the slight dent she made in the floor, getting lengths of her hair out of her eyes with a jerk of her head.  She looked to where The Cloaked Man moved—seeing him get up._

     _He_ moved this time.  With a long stride, he struck with his right fist while Van was still kneeling.  As Van fell backward, he followed with a left kick—knocking her further back and onto her back.  As soon as her back hit the metal floor, Van seemed to bounce back up to her feet again.  

     As soon as the heels of her shoes made contact, The Cloaked Man saw her disappear into that blur attack of hers—immediately before he was _smacked in the chest, sending him airborne.  Yet again, he was knocked down.  With his neck and jaw aching, chest feeling weakened, he was slower in standing up from this fall.  Luckily, his previous attacks on Van had actually weakened her; a stronger hit could have killed his body's life support systems outright._

     Up and ready once more, he saw Van standing ten yards away.  Her right arm hung limp.  To get so much speed and strength of that last attack, she must have burned something out!

     Then The Cloaked Man knew why that gynoid was so viciously stronger and quicker than usual:  Her mobility systems were tuned too high, put at an overload setting that could give her immense speed and strength—before the systems overloaded.  

     "Jackass," she began, "that override punch should have taken your crazy head!   "Now I'll have to override again!  You'll die this time, flesh brain!"            

     As soon as Van finished speaking, The Cloaked Man knew it was time to duck.  He did, Van turned into a moving blur again, and he heard a razor-quick _swish above him.  That is, where his head was a second before._

     Van stepped back from that attack, moving slowly and awkwardly as now both her arms were now limp and burned out.  "You shit-for-brains freak!  Just die like a good madman!  Let me take cave in your titanium ribs before I eat your damned brain.  Please let me kill you.  Please?"  

     "Never!  Ha ha!" shouted The Cloaked Man, fully realizing what he said was cliché, also fully preparing for another attack.  He reached back, brushing his cape with his fists  to speed up a certain charging process.  This, while very conscious of the strong ache in his chest, his weakened frame.  That meant deep structural damage—pretty scary.   

     _Can't worry now!_  The Cloaked Man's right fist moved the very moment Van became a moving and attacking blur.  There was a miniature blast of blue sparks.   The bright blueness flickering and being reflected on the circular wall of the ring.  Someone fell, wheezing and hissing, those sounds echoing from the circular walls.

     That was Van who fell, her hands to the hard center of her chest.  She exhaled another burst of static, smoke came from her mouth, and then she went limp.  Her hands falling away revealed a scorched and dry hole in her chest, smoke also puffing from that.  Van was defeated.

     After that frenzied and dangerous fight, The Cloaked Man asked himself, _What in tarnation was that_?_  Not Van!  _His fists went down, unclenched.  Fingers relaxed and feeling shaken, and his eyes looked at the ruined gynoid.  Shouted, "_That was a darned good prank, people.  Ha ha ha, I can laugh at pranks, too!  Damned funny!  Let's all laugh!"_

     But the ring was almost totally abandoned of live audience to hear that shout—a sea of seats empty of everything but air.  The answer was the sound of slow clapping in the quiet.   Sitting in a front-row seat, immediately above the rim of the Fighting ring, the bald and muscular businessman in sunglasses grinned a metal-toothed grin, continued his clapping.  _Mr. Janx.  Mr. Janx stopped clapping, and he sat down again.  _

     The Cloaked Man turned away from Mr. Janx up over there.  He then heard the way out of the Fighting ring open up.  And in walked a normal-eyed version of Van, her large dark eyes wide and pleading.  

     "Cloaked Man!" she said, running with her slender arms open for embrace.  It looked like Van.  _Was_ it Van?  Maybe…

     …_Maybe not_.  He leapt right, then tumbled and stood.  Evading Van's hold.  Looking, he asked, "How do I know you're not some tricked-up evil version of Van?  Huh?  I just fought another you.  So are you actually _you?_"

     Van pursed her thin lips, wondering.  "I _know_ that I'm me, Cloaked Man.  That's good enough.  Anyway, didn't you say you needed me?  Because of what your dream told you?  Don't be that way…" she voiced, approaching him again.

     He raised his right hand, palm up as he stood up from his kneeling.  "_Back_, I say!  Back!"  Standing again, he reached into his left pocket, taking out an apported gold coin.  On one side was a thick jagged thunderbolt.  The other side had three wavy lines, stylized wind.  Would he trust her?  Let the coin decide.  

     Eyes still on Van and right palm still gesturing _stop_, he flipped the coin with his left.  The coin went up, flippingly and gleaming…  And it smack-landed in his palm.  A glimpse at the result:  It was thunder-side up.

     "Okay, you can come with me.  I'll just have to assume you're Van," he said.  Van smiled.  And the ring was open now, so the two walked out.  This, while red-eyed and reprogrammed Van lay broken in the Arena.

     Outside the Arena, the Japanesque gynoid and the caped synth-fleshed man emerged into the urban late-afternoon.  Sunlight was becoming tinged with yellow with the oncoming sunset.  The Cloaked Man looked at his now-refurbished ally.  _May as well get into the habit of trusting the robot again, he thought.  "Hey Van, you have a better memory than I do.  What's the way back to our nuke bikes in this whacked city?"_

     The gynoid called Van turned her head left, looked at him.  "We parked them at _Tad's, the restaurant, remember?"  The Cloaked Man shrugged; he did not remember the way back to that particular place of consumption.  It was a big city, and he was only here a day, a crazy day. _

     She gave a slight and embarrassed smile.  "You actually want _me to lead the way, Cloaked Man?  Okay…  Just follow me; I have stored map data of the area leading to there." _

     The Cloaked Man looked away from Van, to look at the western horizon.  He said to her, "Lead the way, but let's _run, dang it.  I'm getting creeped out."_

     "Why are you worried?" asked Van.  "This isn't like Brunswick.  There are always 

plenty of e-cops around.  And the laws are pretty strict."  She saw him give her a look of reproach.

     "At least in Brunswick, we _knew what happened after sundown," he began.  "I want you to think around and about what I now say:  Alia and I found out that Fusion City ain't what you think it is.  While you were broken, I found a little pamphlet with info about the people of this city.  Especially, stuff about the immensely weird and _

freaked-out citizens.

     "Sunlight is going away, we've just been here a solitary day, and I don't want to know what goes on at night.  _Believe me, this place has more worth in dark weirdness than Alia."   That said, they ran._

     And they did run, leaving the Arena behind.  Both of their bodies made of synthetics, powered by microfusion batteries, the two running figures had the endurance of machines.  Their feet covered the miles to the restaurant, arriving at the next location in twenty minutes.

     At the parking lot of _Tad's,_ the two saw more of those omnipresent giants in slacks, dress shirts, and trenchcoats:  the e-cops.  Three of those big e-cops present looked on as The Cloaked Man and Van mounted their nuclear-powered motorcycles.  

     On his vehicle, The Cloaked Man smirked at himself.  "Dang it, what the heck is _wrong with my thinking?" he said.  He looked left at Van, her on her nuke bike.  "You never went to Fusion Central hospital, so you don't know the way there, right?" _

     Van looked down.  She slightly shook her head, sorry to disappoint one of her human-brained allies.  "Sorry, I don't.  Why, what happened?  Did something happen to Alia while I was…"  Van wanted to say, _dead.  Wrong word; robots are not living things, so they do not __die.  "While I was shut down?" she finally finished._

     The Cloaked Man began speaking, also noticed approaching e-cops.  Ignoring them, he said, "Alia had to go get her face dolled up again.  She got herself a split in the face—the kid near well got her pretty little head cut open."   When he finished saying this, one e-cop was already nearby.  In that sunlight shone at a steep angle, the tall figure's shadow had significant length.  The Cloaked Man was again reminded of the time.  

     "Please 'scuse me.  You two looking for your little buddy?" voiced the giant in trenchcoat.  The Cloaked Man answered with a nod.  "Coach radioed us.  He said that the metal-bodied little girl of yours is over at Admin."  

     _Admin, short-handed talk Administrative Control!  Mind control central!  thought The Cloaked Man.  __We're going to trek to that__ place!  "And where is that, dude-man?  We're still new to your town."   The Cloaked Man reached into his left pocket, just as the e-cop began to give directions.  Out came the stored pamphlet.  "Never mind, officer.  I got myself a map."  He stepped off his nuke bike and gave the pamphlet to his gynoid for scanning.  _

     The gynoid took the pamphlet.  She unfolded it and turned it over.  Indeed, there was a small and very high-resolution map of Fusion City.  "Just store the map, right?"  _Yeah, said The Cloaked Man.  So she looked at the small map for a second, her ceramic eyes staring.  "I'm done."  Van handed the pamphlet back to The Cloaked Man. _

     He took it and put it back in his left pocket, where the pocket-sized apportation field made it vanish.  Then he mounted his own nuke bike, leaned back in the long seat, put his hands on the handlebars.  The vehicle started.  "Let's move.  You get to lead the way again.  We can come back for Alia's nuke bike later—if Alia's okay."

     The two then went on the move again, this time on rumbling and fast-moving 

nuke-bikes.  The Cloaked Man's cape fluttering and Van's long dark hair doing the same.  And now, The Cloaked Man was becoming more agitated as time went on; the sun was really going down.  He was steadily worried about Alia, wondering if he was already too late.

     Administrative Control was a proud fifty-story office-style tower of a building, and it had a full city block to itself.  In ancient wording, it was a skyscraper—a real rarity in this point in history.  Van and The Cloaked Man never saw one before; The Cloaked Man himself was shaken.  What if that oversized building collapsed while they were in it?

     The two party members stopped their vehicles outside the building.  While putting down the kickstands of their nuke-bikes, the two were by two e-cops.  The Cloaked Man got off his nuke bike.  "We're here on big business—with Coach."

     "We thought so," said the first e-cop.  He gave a toss of his left thumb, indicating the building behind.  "Just go on in.  The secretary will know, so she'll trigger the elevator for you.  You're going straight to see the man himself."

     Still somewhat shaken and stirred by that big building, The Cloaked Man steeled himself and walked beyond the e-cops—went to the building, closely followed by Van.  The doors swung open, automatic.  

     And the two walked into the gleaming atrium of a lobby.  It was a classy and impressive lobby, done in ancient and grand style.  Statues of rugged-featured businesspeople were along the marble walls, and the reception secretary's desk was between four fluted columns.      

     The Cloaked Man looked an around this immense place, looked up at the high and 

far-away ceiling!  Van gave a look to the red-haired and conservatively dressed  professional at the desk, and she nodded.  Van led The Cloaked Man to the elevator that took them forty-nine stories up.

     It was a tall and prolonged ride, the elevator slightly whirring on the way up.  The Cloaked Man moved over to the side.  Van just stood in the middle, ever so slightly swaying.  As they continued their ride up, The Cloaked Man wished that gynoids did not have to sway at all, sway a little more than real-brained people.  Nah, it wasn't her fault that gynoids had slightly worse balance.      

     The elevator doors finally opened into a hallway that stretched left and right, tall doors before them.  Other than the four security guards in simple blue uniforms, this hall was empty.  The Cloaked Man said nothing to the guards; they said nothing to The Cloaked Man.    He let go of Van's hand and reached for the tall brown doors.  

     The tall brown doors opened into an immense enclosed space, the size of an auditorum.  There was a wide real-wood desk at the very far end of this place, a fat figure seated behind it, and a much thinner and smaller blonde figure seated before it.

     The Cloaked Man made a striding run for the desk, Van running at his side.  Over there, Alia heard the sound of approaching running.  She stood and turned, her synthetic face holding slight surprise.

     _The party was back together again_.   The Cloaked Man lifted Alia.  Holding the little cyborg in a full-bodied hug, lifting her small self off the floor.  She was fine...

     Certainly, she was fine!  "_You ungentlemanly oaf, do release!" she shouted, indignant and appalled.  But The Cloaked Man still clenched her.  "Must I inflict damage?" she asked pointedly.  "Is this brutality?"  The Cloaked Man finally put her down.  She began to stroke her pale hair back into place, her large dark eyes not meeting his.  "Nearly a mere hour out of your presence, and you react as if I were lost for decades._

     "And while you sought our restored gynoid-friend," she continued, "Coach and I had parlance.  Mutual conversation of issues and interests, as with duscussion of his deep and long power over Fusion City.  The answer holds explanation."   

     The Cloaked Man looked at Alia, then at Coach, then at Alia again.  Alia extended  a sleek metal arm.  Pointing to the right.  She then pivoted as so she pointed at Coach.  "Communicate, Cloaked Man," she said, her synthetic face concerned.  She then sat down, carefully crossed her armored legs, waiting.        

     The Cloaked Man looked over the desk, looked to Coach.  "You've got Alia convinced of something, Coach-man, and she doesn't sound like she's been mentally changed any.  Yep, she still talks like her same creepy self."  Alia gave him a look; he ignored it, of course.  "So what did you say to her?"

     Coach, resplendid in his immense reclining seat, comfortable in long-sleeved athletic shirt and floppy gray pants, leaned back and away from the desk.  He was a very casually dressed man in an extremely elegant office setting.  "Whaddaya talking about?  I ain't need to touch a pretty hair on her head.  She's the most calm newbie I ever met—didin't  need reforming."  The big man put his hands on his paunch.  "Anyway, let me tell ya what I told yer little buddy here.

     "She kept askin' about why Fusion City is the way it is, so I told'er.  I told'er about why I'm in charge of this whole damned town:  because nobody else _wants to be in charge.  From the beginning, everybody in town was too busy going for beauty.  Ya know what __beauty means?  It means being beyond perfect and practical.   And because the city was made perfect with cyborg and robot, made with people like yer  friends, the humans wanted to be beautiful._

     "So humans started wantin' to be more than perfect.  Wanted to be _beautiful__.  People started undergoin' all sorts of cosmetic surgery.  And as ya know, body replacement technology can replace anything with myogel muscle tissue, rubberoid, titanium, electromechanics, and all that.  Yeah, __everything's replacable.  _

     "And ya found and read that pamphlet I gave ya, right?  That's right, I purposely put in the limo for youse all to find and read.  To get the _truth..  And ya know the truth now."  Coach then used his hands and arms to boost his bulk up from his large reclining seat.  Standing, he leaned forward and supported himself with hands on the desk—using both his metal and real hand.  "__Almost every human in Fusion City wanted to be so damned perfect that they even replaced their brains!  Everybody in Fusion City calls him- and her-self human, but that's just talk.  They're all __fully synthetic now.  They're all __robots.  _

     "And they're all robots that jus' want to spend most _all their time being the beautiful and more-than-perfect people that they think they are.  Goin' to their advance hypno-education classes to get fancy educational degrees.  Goin' to their perfect little office-based jobs.  Hell, __everybody has an office."  Coach's eyes then narrowed, his big face very serious.  _

     Speaking lowly, he continued.  "So guess what?  So long as they can be beautiful and live beautiful lifestyles, the synthetic people don't care _who or __what runs them.  They don't even care if a set of super-computers keep'em all in check.  And they don't care who helps keep that computer runnin'."_

     Alia tilted her head to the side.  "Indeed, by deeds, such is where Coach intervenes.  An uncontested maintainer of a society-wide regime.  Being the only being with his original brain and a largely organic body, he rules—has ruled for a century.  Maintaining Fusion City."

     All eyes the standing man in the cape, he let out a breath.  "Un-freaking-believable.  Coach-man's got it _made.  Got a whole city to himself to rule."  He looked at Alia, seated and small.  "I think I know you, Alia.  And I know you don't make friends with people too easy.  But Coach won your friendliness pretty easily.  Why?  Huh?"_

     Alia's dark dollish eyes darkened yet more, her small mouth pursed.  A second.  "To be sincere, it is because he is the last of his people.  As others around him lost their brains to aspects of the times, he retained his own."  

    The Cloaked Man shrugged.  "Big whoop!  I still got my original brain!  I'm 

synth-flesh, but my brain's still alive.  Difference between you and me is how your body is armor-solid from the neck down.  Your cute little head looks normal, though, like…"

     _Alia snapped up_, suddenly standing just two  feet from The Cloaked Man.  Her right hand was up, the tip of her metal finger thrust to point just centimeters from his nose.  "_You failed to understand!" she shouted, her soprano voice loud and echoing throughout this vast office.  "To reaffirm the fact, __my brain is not truly of normal humanity.  Elfin.  My brain is _elfin_; __I am elf.  This, though classed as __human.  My people were declared part of humanity, though not truly and fully of humanity.  That much, I remembered recently._

     "Also, as far as I sense and know, I am the last of elfin kind.  _Know and remember that_, Cloaked Man."  That said, Alia moved back to her seat and sat down.  Back in her small and soft voice, she continued.  "Coach is also a last survivor—like myself.  In a land where others have died or become different, he retained who he is.  Retained his actual being.  He did not succumb to darkening times."

     The Cloaked Man nodded.  "Good enough for me, even that shouting."  He turned, his caped back to everyone at and around Coach's desk.  "Yeah, whatever, doll.  I don't like it.  Everyone in this city really being androids and gynoids—just pretending to be human. Coach has it good, being able to rule the city for himself…  All to himself…

     "But I'm leaving, heading back on the road to got to the City of Slow Dreams."  He put his left foot out, black shoe making a sound.  Then he put out his right foot, another click of shoe-heel.  With audible steps on the hard marble-gleaming floor, he crossed the floor and went to the tall doors.  

     Over there, he stood for a second, hooked his thumbs in his slacks pockets.  He turned, looked across the vast office space as the window-granted sunlight darkened.  "I'll be down by the nuke bikes.  Alia, Van, do what you want, but I'm leaving to get out of this 

city before it really gets dark."  

     The Cloaked Man was on his nuke bike, waiting.  Little Alia and taller teenage-looking Van emerged from the building, coming out into the sunset-colored sidewalk and streets.  Buildings all around.  

     Van moved to her nuke bike.  "Alia, need a ride to your nuke bike?" she asked.  Van nodded, and she sat behind Van.  Van very carefully leaned forward; sitting as so there was space in the seat for Alia to sit in.  

     Alia did not take up too much space, anyway.  She put her small machine hands on Van's shoulders, holding, and they went to get the third nuke bike.

     Without incident, they obtained that third nuke bike—the one especially modified for Alia's petite form.  With her on it, they were all again mounted and ready.  The Cloaked Man revved his nuke-bike's engine, and they left from the northern city limits.  Three mounted nuke bikes roared out onto the plains, and so the party left Fusion City—no one saying anything as the day finally darkened into night.   


	8. Dream Chapter 8...

City of Slow Dreams:  Chapter 8 (by Elliot Bowers)

     Nighttime was coming on.  As Alia's higher thought processes ambled thoroughly through random thoughts, her body essentially controlled the nuke bike.  Riding her nuke bike behind the riding madman with the cape and the Japanesque gynoid, just riding along in the dimming day.  When they left Fusion City, it was already very late afternoon.  Now, sunlight was going away.  

     As Alia physically motored along the road, her mind wandered and ambled.  Wandering and ambling, like her party's nuke bikes wandering and rambling along the sunset-dim road.  For no reason, she thought of Fusion City.  Alia thought it a city coated and shelled with beauty_, Shelled beauty with dark denaturing trouble within__.    _

     Not a place to stay.  Not Fusion City.  That was reason enough for The Cloaked Man to want to leave it so quickly.  Alia hoped that, if they encountered another settlement, things would be better.  Should be better.    

     The afternoon was darkening from sunset yellow into dark night, the shadows of their nuke bikes blending into the oncoming gloom.  The three turned on their nuke bikes' headlights, and clean bright light flared out into the road ahead.  Beacons of florescent brightness on the road of forever.  With starlight almost insignificant and away, the headlamps were the only lights out here—making for a universe of near darkness.  

     Darkness meant trouble.  Other than the white light ahead and the rumble of the nuke bikes along this long road, the three were vastly alone.  There could be anything out here, and Alia's mind began going through travelers' tales.

     Her thoughts wandered so much that they wandered into danger.  She thought of some dark travelers tales—like about War antiques.  Machines left over from that conflict that destroyed the Old Times.  War antiques still live on, especially some of the troll-like machines—the MBDs—that stomped along in the darkness of the plains:  their unmaintained and distorted programming ready to attack anything.  The travelers were right about that.

     There were also _other_ travelers tales.  Truly darkened tales said late weekend nights at pubs.  Like, about some parts of this land being so soaked with had radiation that any human going to those places would die.  Or, tales about randomly evil rogue rainclouds that poured toxic rains before the wind blew them away—to kill off another city.  There were also tales about synthetic-bodied people that  forgot their humanity, and roamed the plains in search of young human boys and girls to eat.  Were they in the dark as well?   

     Travelers' tales were said in good fun back in Brunswick.  People in from the plains told dim and strange tales about what was out in the plains.  Out here.  And now, out here, the tales told at pubs, diners and dinner tables were coming back.

     Now, it is the dark of night.  The Cloaked Man veered left, then decelerated as so he rode next to Alia and Van.  Hands still firmly on his vehicle's handlebars, he looked right—looked at Alia.  "_Alia, let's keep motoring until dawn.  Remember what happened last time we camped out?" he said above engine rumble.  A pause, filled with engine rumble.  "__Good, you remember.  So let's keep going until sunlight shows itself again."          _

     "_I give agreement,_" responded Alia, also speaking loudly.  _Indeed, _she thought, _w__hat of sleep?  And just then she felt tinges of sleepiness spreading around the edges of her brain.  It could have been the blank darkness outside their headlights, so blank and dark and peaceful.  But sleeping made them targets for whatever dangers were out here…  _

     "_Goody!" confirmed The Cloaked Man.  He gave a right thumb up, and he accelerated to lead again.  In passing Van, he shouted, "_Van, d___on't have to worry about you drowsing off!"  Another thumbs up, and he was back at the head of the pack, leading the way through this darkness.  _

     Alia took reassurance from The Cloaked Man heading up their traveling.  Yes, it was emotionally simple to just follow The Cloaked Man.  When in doubt, simply follow the big confident man with the cape, the man with unlimited money and toughness.  He was the one whose whims tugged him toward _the City.  _

     He led the way there.  He led them this far.  And, who else in the world was there to follow?

     It was similar to having an older and wiser relative.  An older brother, not a father.  The Cloaked Man was far from being someone to love like a father—because of his wayward ways and twist-thought thinking.  Alia's eyelids lowered on the thoughts.  But older brothers, they could be meandering people.  The Cloaked Man led them _through the__ meandering and the__ turns, the swaying motion of life…_

     …_Squeech!  Alia's rubberoid eyelids snapped back open, her titanium fingers clamping into the handlebar grips.  She had dozed!  She nearly skidded out of control when her nuke bike's wheels ran over a branch…  _Tree_ branch.  Tree branches?  A forest?  _

     So there really were still trees.  Even with drowsiness soaking her mind with pervasive gentleness, she still had concentration enough to use her infrared sight to look around.  They were entering an area thick with foliage.  A true forest in the depths of dark night.

     She took in as deep a breath as her compact artificial lungs could take in.  It was an attempt at getting more oxygen into her contained blood supply, into her brain.  Her electromechanical body was calibrated to never generated more adrenaline than usual, regardless of the trouble she sensed, and that was why even current danger could not shock her out of sleepiness.  With riding becoming bumpy, roughened, troubled with decaying branches, there was danger in her skidding out and possibly crashing into the dark woods now all around.    

     Van, not quiet anymore, shouted with fear in her simulated voice.  "_Cloaked Man!" shouted the synthetic girl.  "__Alia needs help!  Slow down!"   Van was programmed with some basic deference to those with living brains; that deference led to extra worry in her simulated emotions.  She worried for the troubled cyborg riding behind her.        _

     When they came to a clearer part of the road, The Cloaked Man decelerated again—riding next to Alia.  "_Confound it, don't crash on us!  What the heck__ is up with you?"  He leaned ever so slightly more to the right, looking into Alia's eyes.  The eyelids of her large dark eyes were ever so slightly lower than usual.  "_Woah!  ___You're sleepy!"_

     "_Such cannot be helped.  An apology," she shouted, eyes still ahead and into the darkness on the now-forest road ahead.  Shouted, just as her eyelids began to drop even more.  She was losing control.  _

     The Cloaked Man shouted, "_Alia, you slow down!" He saw Alia gently nod, and her metal fingers eased on the nuke bike's accelerator.  Following suite, he and Van slowed to Alia's riding pace.  The the sounds of their nuke bikes easing.  _

      They slowed yet more.  Soon, the sounds of the three engines went from loud rumbling to moderate grumbling.  And they all braked to stop near the side of the woodsy road.  

     Headlights remained on, glaringly white against the unfamiliar green of the shrub leaves and tree trunks all around.  Alia dismounted from her low-riding nuke bike, put down her kickstand.  She was standing by her vehicle, swaying on her solid legs.  The darkness of the night forest all around seemed to welcome her, seemed to close into…_her… sleep-softening mind.  __All becoming so peacefully gentle. A nice little nap for the sleepy little cyborg…_

_     "Catch her, Van!" shouted The Cloaked Man.  Van was closer, and she took two long strides in the gloom of the headlights.  The synthetic girl then knelt, catching Alia and keeping her from falling onto the dark road._

     The Cloaked Man moved over to where Van knelt, her holding Alia.  And he himself nearly fell over.  He shook his head and took in a breath, then spoke.  "She's sleeping!  Of all the jinxed up times to sleep, Alia actually fell asleep!  How can someone just…  drop off in the middle of the woods?  Van, you're a girl—sort of.  Tell me why the heck-a-deck Alia is self-sedated."

     Van looked down at the dollish cyborg in her arms.  The small metal-bodied waif slept with calm and peace, her synthetic face more beautiful when so relaxed.  What brought on Alia's sleeping spell?  Then something came to Van's thought processes.  

     She noted that The Cloaked Man's freestyling talk led him to saying _self-sedated.  Sedation…  There could be something in the air, perhaps a local toxin or impurity that affected those with real brains.  If Van had been better maintained by Steve, her very last owner, she would have been able to do chemical analysis with sensors in her nose.  Not now, though.          _

     But synth-fleshed people like The Cloaked Man had nearly the same physical abilities and strengths of humanoid robots like Van.  Maybe, The Cloaked Man's own olfactory sensors detected local impurities.  

     "Cloaked Man," said Van.  "Do you…_smell anything odd?  I mean, any smells that have sweet or rich smells?"_

     "Odd smells in the night wind, eh?"  he asked.  "Let me see.  No, wrong word.  Let me _smell_."  He exhaled, emptying his artificial lungs.  With a prolonged and loud _sniff-f-f-f_, he inhaled—olfactory sensors in his artificial nose at work.  "Well, I smell a somewhat _sleepy_ smell.  I don't know, something that smells more brownor bluethan usual?  There's _something in the air and in the breeze.  _

     "Hard for me to tell, though.  Hmph, let me try again."  He tried another long and extended _sniff-f-f_.  And then he dropped, knocked out.  

     His cape spread out beneath him, clothes frumpy in his new position, he had fallen to the dark road.  In the wind, here was something in the wind that managed to go through his—and Alia's—electromechanical respiratory systems.  Their brains were_ dosed_.

     Indeed, there was trouble in the windy breeze as it gently wafted through the woods and across the road.  The breeze carried sounds of rustling and movement from the left.  Van slowly lowered Alia to the ground and looked around.  That trouble, it made sounds.  

     The sounds from the left increased, bolder.  Looking to the left side of the road, not just listening, Van saw dark movements.  Movements of bobbing yellow lights with those sounds.     

     People emerged from the night-dark woods.  Humans.  Van used her enhanced vision to see the humans coming into the headlight-illuminated space, and they lit big wooden torches.  They were generally middling in height, red haired and thin.  And they wore Old-style clothes, likely made from synthesizing machines salvaged from somewhere.  A dozen humans in Old-Time clothing.

     "Look at that, Zeke!  Some more of them _strangers are out to get us Woodsies," said one of the thin and Old-dressed men from the woods.  Torch flickering, he walked over to Van, who knelt by Alia.  "One of'em is all dressed up in metal.  Up to her neck!"_

     The big Woodsie called Zeke came closer, his torchlight adding to the first one's.   With Van looking, Zeke said, "That ain't in no metal getup she's wearing over her body.   She's an _it_.  War antique_."_

     "Ya mean, one o'them _War_ monsters?" asked another Woodsie, who was looking at the nuke bikes.  "Like, those things we done had to trap after it broke up Peggy Sue's cabin?  For real?"

     Zeke nodded.  "Uh huh.  And I suspect these here people must be more War antiques.  Even that pretty-looking girl in the finery ain't real.  She got perfect skin.  I can tell."  Van heard that and pressed her lips together, wondering about how that _Zeke _man found her out so easily.

     Zeke continued, gesturing.  "Look, they got fancy wheeled machines.  You were just lookin' at'em, Jimmy."  He stood away from Van, his free right hand gesturing.  "We could use'em for something, soon as we figure out how.  Use both their machines—and those antiques' bodies."  Then he turned to the rest of the crowd.  "Let's bring'em to the village."

     Van did not want that!  She suddenly stood, her fists clenched.  "Who are you people?  We haven't done anything to you!  Leave us alone!"  One step forward toward Zeke, and she then heard over a dozen minute mechanical clicks—the clicks of shotgun safeties being thumbed off.  

     The Woodsies had taken shotguns out from behind their backs, holding them in their right hands while their torches burned in their left hands.  Van now saw a dozen once-hidden guns ready to shoot, guns there as if by magic.  Not that a shot could down her, but metal bullets would shred synth-flesh and disable her.  Enough shots, and the bullets would rip through the myogel muscle of her abdomen, disabling.  And then, there were Alia and The Cloaked Man to worry about if she was defeated.  

     Van made the ancient American gesture of surrender when faced with guns.  That is, she raised her hands.  Despite the look of defiance on her pale face, she would not fight.  

     She did not fight as they moved her and her other two party members along a dark trail in the woods.  One of the Woodsies put away his shotgun and hefted Alia onto a shoulder—like a large-sized titanium-bodied doll.  

     Two more Woodsies  put away their shotguns and carried, then dragged, The Cloaked Man.  Van walked with guns at her vulnerable back, her blouse feeling even thinner against the potential threat of shotgun blast.      

     They walked yet further on, walking by torchlight.  Minutes, then an hour.  They were an hour's distance from the road.  And being captured, they were not likely to return to the road anytime soon.

     They strode through absolutely darkened woods, the humans and their inhuman catches.  Van was being shoved along by hands, led between the tree trunks, through leaves and shrubs. Her electronic eyesight was fit for seeing the way; she was unsure if humans could actually see.  But even with her inhuman sight, she had difficulty navigating the path. 

     "Don't hold us up, fake girl!" said one of the humans in this torch-wielding group—a male.  "We Woodsies don't appreciate yer stallin'!  Ain't you been made to be, like, _stronger_ than real people?  Now move, or we'll start to put a hurtin' on yer _sedated friends."  The man giggled.  "Haw haw!  That's the word, ain't it?  Sedated…?"_

     Van clenched her teeth, didn't answer.  Instead, she diverted more of her thought processing to keeping her balance.  It was partially an excuse not to answer.

     _Thump!  _Someone struck her in the upper back with something.  Likely, the butt end of a shotgun.  Van staggered, but there was no pain or damage.  Her skeleton was of a treated alloy dozens of times stronger than the metal used to make those guns.  She heard her personal captor say, "Hey-hey yew!  Didn't Jim-Bob ask yew a question?"    

     Bitterly, Van said, "Don't hit me, and maybe I'll answer questions better.  It's pretty hard for me to think straight when I've been hit.  You're making me upset!"  _Thump!  That earned her another hit in the upper back from the man leading her, and the captor did not even break stride._

     "Shut yer lyin'!" said her own captor, his voice still angry and ready to hit her again.  "Robots ain't got no feelings!  We don't care how human ya look, yer still a machine inside, 'cause Zeke _knows_.  Yer a dang-on _machine!  So we could even cut ya up, and it wouldn't hurt."_

     Van shook her head, forgetting for seconds that they could not see the gesture.  "How do _you_ know?  You don't know what it's like, you being real.  I'm not real, I know, but I'm still a person.  I can be hurt, and…" _Thump!_

_     Then, the one called Zeke spoke from somewhere up ahead of this walking group.  "Listen, fake girl!  Ya __ain't a person!"  A pause, them still moving on.  Then Zeke spoke again.  "Yer friends here got real brains in their machine bodies of theirs, and that makes _them_ more people than yew!  _

     "And for a pretty machine-girl, ya got a real _mouth_ on ya.  Now shut the yappin'.  We're almost there, and we don't want to wake sleepin' folks."

    The Cloaked Man gave a waking moan, and everyone stopped.  "Are we there yet?  I hate to annoy you, but I have to annoy you anyway…  No, I like annoying you."

       The group stopped.  Humans tense.  The gynoid anxious.  The Cloaked Man then said, "Whoo, still got some sleeping to do, I do.  Good night, folks…"  He went unconscious again, and they continued to wherever they were going.  

     Van had a glimmer of hope with the seconds The Cloaked Man temporarily regained consciousness.  But the glimmer died when he dropped back into unconsciousness.  She had hope that he would awaken.  Then she would not have to worry about defending him if they had to fight.   

     Not now, though.  Van could see bright yellow coming from somewhere ahead.  The glimmering yellow light had the same consistency of a fire.  They were actually _burning plant parts—wood!  Likely, it was an easy way to get light and heat._

       Their destination was a firelit clearing.  A rural settlement.  Van gauged to be almost three city blocks in size, visible in the low yellow light of big fires.  This was far from being a city; there were two rows of brown log cabins before her.  Like a street, only with a central road of packed dirt and big fires for "street" lighting—the houses at the sides done rustically.  The only non-wooden structure here was one at the far left end:  a simple gray concrete building the size of a log cabin. 

     This was one of those places the travelers talked about, then:  settlements so small that people lived simply and with only the most minimal in scavenged technology.  Van had to interpret and analyze this place from historical data downloaded into her electronic brain, downloaded with the first of her programming.  Well, now Van had something to add to her own knowledge; some of humanity still lived in log cabins.

     "Stop yer gawkin', or whatever ya machines call it, and _move!" said her captor, still behind her.  He punctuated the sentence with yet another hit to her back, and everyone stopped moving.  Hitting gynoids must make him happy.  Van had to wonder how he treated his fellow humans, men or women.  "Yew saw that there concrete cabin.  Yer goin' there."_

     Van tried to turn, to look the human in the face when she spoke.  All she earned for her attempt was a glance at a face in flickering firelight—and a _thump in her left shoulder to make her turn around again.  "What about my friends?" she asked._

     "Yeah yeah, we'll shack'em up with ya, too," answered her abusive guide.  "Don't yew worry, fake girlie, they'll be with ye 'til Judge passes judgement on ye."   A slightly less gentle prod of the shotgun butt, and Van was again moving.  This time in the lowlit direction of the concrete structure—at the end of this dirt lane. 

         They went there.  Van was guided first into the simple concrete structure. Brought inside, her eyes readjusted to take in white florescent lighting.  She saw how simple it was inside:  just a two-room concrete interior—the rooms divided by bars that went from floor to ceiling.  In this half of this white-lit and concrete-walled room, there was a five-legged and wide-topped wooden stool.  The other half of the room was bare save a concrete clogged square on the floor.  

     The big man named Zeke did something with a switch at the left, and the bars went up.  She also heard, "Git yerself in there."  To avoid giving her personal guide an excuse to thump her, she went into the once-barred part of the room.  As soon as she was over there, the small solid form of Alia was pushed next to Van.  Van caught Alia to keep the small cyborg from scraping her most delicate part, her synth-flesh face.  Then The Cloaked Man was shoved to tumble in, his cape fluttering.  Van carefully laid down the metal-bodied waif, then went to check on The Cloaked Man.  The synth-flesh man was fine, as far as her limited diagnostics could tell.

     With a _clunk, the metal bars came down—trapping the three party members.  Van had the idea of just going over and going into overload to bend the bars.  But then she heard the slight telltale thud of prolonged tensor fielding going over the bars.  Truly trapped, now.  _

     So long as electricity flowed to the tensor field contacts, nothing could destroy those bars.  Van vaguely wondered how those people—the Woodsies—generated enough energy to keep the tensor fielding up.  Then again, it seemed that only the bars were being fielded.  Likely, a small-scale fusion reactor was underneath her feet, generating enough electricity for this entire settlement—if the Woodsies wanted to use the electricity at all.  And the fusion reactor being here made sense; this "building" could be a modified overstructure for fusion generator maintenance. 

     Then, the group of roughly dressed Woodsies began leaving through the metal entrance door of this building, their shotguns in their left hands.  Zeke looked back at Alia.  "Don't you worry, little girlie!  You'll be safe in here."  He walked out with his cohorts.  The door shut.

     She looked on at the door, and looked at the long gray tensored bars of this trapping  cell.  Bars that trapped her and her other two party members.  Zeke was right; they were safe.  But that was almost it.  

     Van looked at her two party members, looking at their conditions.  Small steady breathing sounds came from Alia's slightly parted lips, her pretty eyes closed and her metal limbs straight as she slept face-up.  She was safe.  

     The Cloaked Man was also safe—generally speaking.  He was sprawled, also face up.  Hopefully, the filtration abilities of their respiratory systems would counteract what the Woodsies' cyborg-sedation smoke did.  

     Or she would try to punch her own way out.  She would lose the synth-flesh over her knuckles, and probably temporarily lose use of her alloy-boned fingers, but she would be out and ready to fight.  Then, she would disable some Woodsies enough as so…  No, they would blast her so much that her synthetic flesh was shredded away and her electromechanics were so blasted by shots that she shut down.  No, Van had to wait, stay by her friends until they awakened.

     It was exactly two hours later; Van could tell as her internal clock indicated that.  By now, she had arranged Alia and The Cloaked Man as so they were side by side on the floor.  Herself, she sat against the left wall, her slacks-covered knees to her bloused chest.  She was still trapped in here.  She was alone.  

     Alone.  Van's delicate and pale Asian face bent into sadness.  She couldn't help it:  as emotions were a critical part of her simulated humanity, the emotions were taking over.  A few gasps. Van was beginning to go into a tearless crying spell, and she didn't want to cry now.

     _Humans, she thought.  __Damn them for making me so much like them!  Stupid emotions, they hurt! __ "_H___urt…" she whispered, her face still crumbled in sadness.  She slightly rocked to try and alleviate the inner emotional hurt.  And she looked at her still sedated friends, also trapped like her.  _

     Time went on, Van feeling very hurt for being painfully alone.  There was nothing to do but look at walls and consider.  Consider everything about here.   She truly was alone in a place that did not care for her.  

     Exactly another hour—exactly three hours in this place, 180 minutes.  Van calmed down, but she still sat with knees to her breasts.  Arms around her knees, hugging herself.  Her other two party members were still unconscious.  That, or their brains died—and she did not know it.

     Brain death, the end of a cyborg's living brain.  That meant final death, so long after the death of one's original body.  If that were so, then Van had no more reason to continue existence herself.  

     Four hours, 240 minutes, and Van still sat huddled.  To pass time, she went loaded previous data from memory, her history.  From memory, she recalled being "born," or being refurbished sixty-three years ago.  There was a previous manufacturing date, but that data was gone from her memory.  

     There were gaps in stored data on her earliest years.  That was probably because of Steve's punishing her, back when Steve owned her.  The punishment put electrical strains on her mobility systems, strains that likely bled slightly into her own thought processors.  The oldest "memories," then, were damaged.

     Van wondered what else had been glitched out of her memory due to Steve.  It could be that she had also "forgotten" some data that would have helped her out now, data that would have helped her solve this situation.  Would have helped her and her friends, maybe.  One day, when she was owned by someone else other than Alia and The Cloaked Man, she could likely be punished by remote again.  And then, the minute cumulative damage would do more minute bits of damage.  Reduce her thought processors to the worth of a typical home computer workstation—making her the cybernetic equivalent of a lobotomite. 

     "_A vegetable," came voiced words.  No, __Van didn't say that.  Rather, from where she sat hunched, she hears that mumbling.  That was _The Cloaked Man_ she heard mumbling.  "__Hee hee hee, vegetables!  Got myself a garden full of the dead.  Yes-sir-ee, a whole garden of people in the breeze!"  _

     Van slowly rose and tried to go to where The Cloaked Man lie mumbling.  Then she found it hard to walk, hard to approach him.  Yellow _caution texts filled the left side of Van's vision:  visual diagnostics of what was going wrong with herself.  Inside her chest and abdomen, energy systems were malfunctioning.  _

     _The Cloaked Man!  Something serious was happening with his synthetic body's energy systems.  But what?  But how?  Only his living brain was affected by whatever the Woodsies used.  Should have been…_

     With the yellow _caution text on the left side of her vision, she then saw The Cloaked Man get up.  He shook his cape once, looked at his dusted slacks and tee shirt, then looked down at Alia—his cape crackling with energy.  Yes, he…__looked.  His eyes, they were now dark.  They were a smiling and friendly brown before..._

     The Cloaked Man's mouth had a smile, but his eyes did not match the expression.  He then stepped across the floor, away from the bars.  Then standing next to Van, he said, "Meanwhile, go be with Alia, if you have any care left.  Meanwhile, I want to figure on out what the Hell happened."  

     Van tried to open her mouth, tried to tell The Cloaked Man about what happened since he lied unconscious.  Instead, there was a slight static hiss from her polymer throat—voice synthesizers malfunctioning.  With a quick step, The Cloaked Man was suddenly behind Van.  Then he poked her in the back—hard.  

     "What the fuck-a-duck did I say to you, robot?"  He gave a shove, and Van fell to her knees, trying to process The Cloaked Man's behavior.  "Do as your told, or you get some reprogramming.  Am I a good programmer?  Do you want your thinking mangled and mutated by someone not good with programming?  Hell _no!  Anyway, guess I'll find out myself about this whacked-out, cracked-out joint."  _

     Her hands and knees on the concrete floor of this jail, her hair was in dark disarray. 

Van listened.  She listened carefully to The Cloaked Man's sudden anger.  

     And The Cloaked Man giggled, "Hee hee hee!  _Hell!  Can you dig it at all, synthetic girl?  __Hell!"  He kicked her left foot.  "__Hell!  _Aah_, ha, hah, hah…  Hah, hah, hah…!"  Then he turned from Van, his cape swirling.  "Or maybe, you don't get the __damned joke because you don't have a soul."  A mutter, "__Robo-bitch, no soul…"_

     Van gasped and quickly crawled over to unconscious Alia—the gynoid moving as if hurt.  In fact, The Cloaked Man's verbal blows did hurt.  Not that he cared now.  _Something_ was happening with him.    

     He walked over to the concrete wall at the back of this barred half of the room, this cell.  "Keep Alia from getting killed, if you care.  I'm going to take a stroll with the breeze."  He said that, and then he stepped very close to the back wall of this cell.  Standing with the toes of his dark and thick-soled shoes just inches from the wall.  Then things _became darkened and weird_.  

_     Van's electronic eyesight and visual systems processed odd happenings.  The room seemed to become dim, and the lights overhead flickered.  Some mold and cracks developed on the floor, as if the floor aged three hundred years in seconds.  Then Van tried to stand and turn around, before she fell on her synthetic butt.  She managed to sit up, using her arms as support.  And she saw the section of wall before The Cloaked Man turn black.  He stepped at that section of wall, and it crumbled when his left shoulder hit it.  There was a breeze in the room…_

     _When The Cloaked Man left the cell, Van's systems went back to normal.  The florescent lighting returned to normal, too.  __Alia!  Was Alia okay?  Van sat on the floor next to Alia, sat with legs folded under her.  _

     Alia peaceful slumbering face then darkened with emotion.  Her light eyebrows bent slightly, angry at something she saw in a sleeping vision.  And she began to mumble, distantly frightened.  

     Van was not sure of how she could comfort the sleeping metal-bodied girl; she lacked data on that.  But she could try.  She went to Alia's right, put her hands under Alia's back and shoulders.  Alia was just four feet in height, so small.  Seemed smaller when asleep.  Alia being so diminutive, Van was able to cradle her.  Like a young child.  

     That would be the way to act, then.  Recalling data on human young, Van began to hut  Alia's limp and sleeping form closer.  This, because Alia's sleeping face began to show more fear—probably from nightmare.  Whatever The Cloaked Man was doing, he was disrupting Alia's mind.  That, just as he disrupted Van's electromechanical systems a minute before…

    Sitting atop stools inside Judge's rustic and fire-lit living room, the Woodsies felt something.  It was a feeling in the stomach, like the feeling one gets from seeing an old man jump head-first from a high place, dashing his brains and neck on the hard surface below.  Like the feeling one gets when being approached by a large and dangerous beast.  Like…    

     Yeah, the second idea was closer.  They heard the frightful night wind gliding across these log walls and gabled roof.  Judge told his Woodsies to stay put and just listen.

     Outside Judge's cabin, things began to happen.  _Things.  Out there, four of the Woodsies that brought the three captives were now moving.  Shotguns in their hands, they jogged along the central lane of their settlement, going around one of the three big fires.  Then there he was.  _

     Standing with arms loose, cape gently flapping with the breeze, The Cloaked Man regarded the four shotgun-wielding fools now confronting him from afar.  Even with the shadow-tossing light of the fire, he could see them:  big-haired men in boots, coveralls and shirts, rolled-up sleeves.  

     He pointed his left pointer-finger at the Woodsies over there, up the dirt lane.  Saw them re-grip their long guns and back off just one step, though their backs were to one of the big hot night fires.  They readied themselves.  

     Back over here, The Cloaked Man spoke.  "So, you jacked-up jackasses pulled something over on me, huh?  Me, and my party that heads for a city where the Old Times live on?  I'll school you unschooled woods people in how to treat me.  _Hee hee hee!  _I'll put you _all in the breeze!"_

     One of the four Woodsies was Zeke.  "Don't know what the heck yer rantin' about, caped man.  But get yerself back in the concrete cabin, y'hear.  Or we shoot ya up afore Judge says anythin'."

     Then, even in already dim gloom, they saw that man seem to _darken_.  Though the fire behind him seemed to brighten, that man dimmed—surrounded by an ambiance of night.  Some of the Woodsies even thought they saw streaks of darkness swirl around his form…  

     Though the Woodsies felt their knees weaken and their guts become heavy, they stood their ground.  They stood as The Cloaked Man strode in their direction.  His cape fluttering.  His self swathed with dimness.  Darkening.  Then, standing fifteen yards away, he stood with feet slightly apart.

     To him, the odds were pathetic.  There were four humans that now moved to stand shoulder to shoulder, their silly shotguns still gripped and regripped like precious talismans against him.  Just maybe, if they were better armed, they would live for another four minutes against him.  "Hee hee hee!  Draw, cowboys!" said The Cloaked Man.  So the battle began.

     Rather, the night-darkened slaughter began.  Zeke took a step forward.  He raised his shotgun to his shoulder.  Because his hands were shaking, he aimed for the easiest part to target, the body.  _Bra-a-m!_

     With a shake, The Cloaked Man withstood the blasting spray of metal pellets in the left side of his chest.  He _was hit.  But in the bad light, it was hard to tell how much damage was done.  But he still stood.  Still stood.  Zeke thought, __Oh damn!  Why ain't that put him down onto the dirt?  _

     "_Dirt?" asked The Cloaked Man, answering Zeke's thoughts.  Shocked with a scared, Zeke brought down his shotgun and tried to say something, but just bubbling came from his mouth.  That was _crazy_.  Or did he say somethings out loud, and that man over there just heard it?  _

     The man over there, The Cloaked Man, raised the left side of his cape and brought it before himself.  And then big loud jagged blue streaks—electricity—flared out from it and into the group of four Woodsies.  They jerked and spasmed when hit with the field-effect electrical burst, and they went to their knees—upper bodies bent over and ready to vomit.

       The Cloaked Man spoke, "Put _who _in the _dirt?  First that, then you'll go into the breeze.  You're all going to be spiritually fucked!  Spirits in the breeze, souls gone!"  As he said this, the Woodsies struggled and groaned to their feet.  _

     Up again, Zeke tried to fire again, though unsure if he could even aim well after that attack.  He felt weakened because of The Cloaked Man's last attack.  A frightfully painful attack.  Gunshots didn't hurt at first, generally.  But that lightning from The Cloaked Man _did_ hurt.

      Annoyed at his enemies not going unconscious, The Cloaked Man lowered his cape, instead brought up his right hand—fingers extended.  A sharp blast of jagged blue went from his hand and into the group before him.

     A blast of blue which slashed into Zeke's face.  It was a burst of lightning so sharp and intense that the entire dirt lane seemed to be in daylight for a split second.  Then Zeke's stiff body fell face-down in the dirt, his head charred and smoking.  The smell of burnt head-cheese…

     Though their hands shook on, the remaining three Woodsies brought up their shotguns to fight.  They aimed in the general direction of The Cloaked Man, and they managed to get off several shots.  The Cloaked Man's cape crackled and rippled in response, his tee shirt and pants rippling with the breeze.  Untouched by damage from the shots!            

     Now came retribution.  The Cloaked Man brought up his cape as a cover again, and the night lit up with more jagged jolts of electricity.  The electricity spread and spiked the three remaining Woodsies of that group, two of them dropping dead immediately.  There were loud crackling sounds of electricity all around.  

     By freak chance, one of them still stood alive—though his heart felt as if being crushed and his clothing was now patched with smoking areas.  Blackened where his flesh had been burnt to the bone.  

     The Cloaked Man strode over to the lone Woodsie.  That Woodsie could not raise his shotgun.  The Cloaked Man's left fist blurred, and there was an awful _squnch sound—a wet __explosion of globs and bone.  Suddenly headless, that Woodsie's body fell to the side.  Thick wet blood poured from the jagged neck-stump and puddled on the firelit dirt.  This battle was done.  _

     Firelight made flickering lighting on The Cloaked Man's victorious standing and stiff form.  He stood with fists clenched, left fist painted with a drying coat of red.  His eyes  looked down on his last kill.  Though the firelight flickered and illuminated the rest of him, his darkened eyes did not reflect the light.  

     _Wa-hey, what was that?  The Cloaked Man _heard_ something.  With breeze quickness, he snapped around.  Over there.  Oh yes, over __there.  At the end of this firelit dirt lane, fifty yards away, there was a cabin.  And even in this otherwise horrible lighting, The Cloaked Man could clearly see a portly man dressed in white Woodsie clothing—with six other Woodies men.  _

     The Cloaked Man raised his cape.  And there was a long wind that blew through the woods.  The breeze.  He vanished, not in the lane at all..  

     Then he was just ten yards in front of that portly man and his other men.  Simply there, came out of nowhere.  The Cloaked Man thought that this should prove interesting…

     "J-judge, wha-a-t d'we d-o-o?" stammered one of the Woodsie men, a blond-haired thin man with neat Woodise coveralls and shirt.  Clearly, he was afraid.  Afraid of _what_ was before him—_not_ human.

     "What else should we do?" rhetoricized Judge—the fat man in white coveralls and shirt.  He had a well-practiced voice, one that was pervaded with resonance.  "That which be-fore thee is a damn'ed _demon!  Remember the Good Word!  The Good Word shall be our savior as we do battle with the darkness!" _

     The Cloaked Man's face twisted with a smirk.  "_The Good Word?  That sounds __so __cornball!  Is that what you mortals call goodness and light these days?  Why you, kidding me?"  Then he raised his left hand, pointing at the crowd.  "And I give you a dare or two to call me a demon again.  See how messily you die, calling me out like that.  Sheesh, and my party members are in earshot!"_

     "Demon!  Ye are an end product of darkness!" rhetorted Judge.  "Ye want to darken the land!"  Then Judge spoke quotes from whatever sacred texts he had stashed in his cabin.  "Darken the land!  Darken these times!  Darken…the _people!"  He put his right hand on the right shoulder of the nearest Woodsie.  "Enemy, my people and I shall not be darkened!  We prefer death to trucking with the likes of thee!" _

     "Scrub bunch of rustic jackass hicks!  You go to Hell!" exclaimed The Cloaked Man.  And another slaughter began.  Up came his cape, held up by his left forearm.  He held it as a curtaining shield, him kneeling behind it.  Wind began to blow, fanning the three night fires that lit this dirt lane.  

     Judge felt deeply sickened when The Cloaked Man did that—sickened with fright.  Something was happening with the breeze because of whatever The Cloaked Man was doing.  "Vanquish that Enemy!" growled Judge.  "Fire your weapons!"

     And the last of the Woodsie men put up their most brutal and fiercest fight.  It certainly to be the most brutal and blatant fight in their lives.  That was, because, it was their last.  

     Two Woodsies went to their knees, firing shotguns at The Cloaked Man.  The Cloaked Man's cape only rippled.  Otherwise, there was no way to tell if their blasting shots actually struck their intended target.  _He still knelt.  And an ill wind continued to blow… _

     The first two Woodsies reloaded their shotguns, and the rest simply took to firing from the hip.  Loud explosive shots exploded from shotgun barrels.  White-yellow muzzle flashes illuminated this battlefield.  Yet, The Cloaked Man still knelt.  The wind blew onward.

     Then, the majority of the Woodsies took to reloading their shotguns.  Three of them with loaded weapons had stopped firing, their mouths agape.  Not agape, Judge's own jaw was grim set and shut.  That white-dressed man trying to look defiant.  

     "Dang bang it, too bad!" said The Cloaked Man.  "Fat man, your party's over, you…" The Cloaked Man took some seconds to touch their minds and get their names; he was not conscious when they introduced themselves to Van.  Not a problem; he could touch their thoughts now.  Getting closer to the City of Slow Dreams was doing something to him.  

     He spoke on at the doomed group.  "Woodsies?  Yech, what a corny name.  Your party's over,  and you have less than a dozen people invited.  Worse, your party's wearing corny clothes.  No way you and your people can win, Woodsies!"  He said that, and the wind suddenly stopped.  All was silent in this night; even the distant flickering night fires stopped crackling.

     The night-dim scene exploded in loud flashing blue.  With his cape flaring with a full field effect attack, The Cloaked Man was a flaring blue one-man electrical storm.  All of Judge's party danced the spasmodic, grotesque dance of those being severely electrocuted.  Of course, their bodies were dead after the first quarter second of severe megawatt electrical shocks.  But they danced as if still quite alive.

_     Everything suddenly darkened when The Cloaked Man stopped.  And everything seemed quiet.  But listening carefully, there was the hissing sound of charred bodies.  The bodies of the Woodies men._

     His grin bigger, The Cloaked Man looked on at those defeated.  Damn, he was getting better.  Stronger, tougher, more invulnerable.  And this was because he was getting closer to The City of Slow Dreams.  He could _feel it._

     Sure, all the Woodsies _men were dead.  Now, what about the __rest of this little damned settlement?  Where were the Woodsie bitches and Woodsie brats?  The Cloaked Man smiled, and he turned around on his left shoe—the thick sole grinding and twisting in the dirt.  Maybe later, he would play with the corpses.  Now, though, there was more human meat to slaughter.  More humans to put into the breeze.    _

     His mind was a darkened as his eyes, and he truly felt it. The wonderful feeling of being darkened was with him.  Having put plenty of humans in the breeze, ready to put more into the breeze.  Now he was set to put more into the breeze.

     He began to take long strides down the center of the lane.  And, _yes, there were sounds of women and children in the cabins along the left and right.  From the sounds they made, sounds he could easily hear, they were very afraid.  They were hiding in the cabins…!     _

      "Aah, hah, hah, hah..!   Hah, hah, hah, ha…!  _Aah_, hah, hah…"  The Cloaked Man laughed his full and loudly different laugh, filling this place.  Damned Woodsies, living in an ancient way—setting up the women-folk as defenseless domestics while the Woodsie men alone took up the privilege of wielding guns and doing what they defined as men's work.  Well, he made short _work of them!_

     The Cloaked Man's strut took him to the first of the night fires, one of those blazing heaps of flame.  Cape flickering and clothes flapping, he walked right through it.  And he emerged from the other side of the fire—which dimmed.  He walked to the second and was set to do the same when he heard a woman scream.  She was outside of a cabin on the right—that cabin right there...

     "_Fresh meat!" shouted The Cloaked Man, looking at that skinny human woman in nightgown.  The wind began to blow, and the woman stood stiff.  If she would die from that demon, she would at least give her children seconds more to live—huddled in the cabin. _

      The Cloaked Man heard, "_Cease!  Stop yourself, Cloaked Man!"  _H___mmph?  Alia!   The Cloaked Man was stopped in mid-stride.  "__I insist on stoppage!" he also heard.  "__Such this night was carnage enough."  _

     He whirled to look left, whirled with such torque that his cape swirled in a tight arc.  He saw Alia and Van farther down the dirt lane.  Small metal-bodied Alia was holding hands with normal-looking Van.  _Sheesh, he thought, __they look like big-sister and little-sister, except for their phenotypes.   _

      He blinked and allowed his eyes to become brown again.  And he put on a bright smile, waving with his right hand.  "Hey there!  Glad you're up and perky again, Alia!  Be right over!"  Moving with a playful and head-weaving jog, The Cloaked Man lightly stepped over to where the gynoid and elfin cyborg stood.  _Stood holding…hands!  Yech._

     He was then standing in front of them, conversation distance.  "I was waiting for you to wake up, Alia.  Trouble is, those damned Woodsies started calling me names.  You should have seen and heard'em…" 

     "We did," said Van, using a matter-of-fact tone.  "As soon as Alia woke up and had a clear enough mind to control her body again, we walked out here to get you.  But you were busy.  Really busy.  Busy slaughtering _humans_."   

     "Hey!" blurted The Cloaked Man.  He raised his left hand, pointing.  "That was self-defense.  And they had guns!  The battles averaged over five-to-one.  There was just single and solitary me going against a bunch of backwoods Woodsies with Woodsie shotguns—talking their Woodsie talk and fighting their Woodsie way.  How in tarnation is that slaughter?  

     "If this were something out of the Old Days, I would have taken them to court and sued them for all their oatmeal and damned good coffee.  Knowing those jokes, they probably would have found some 'coon hounds, lumber, and axle grease to…"

     "_The end of that rant!" shouted Alia, small body shaking and angry.  She raised her free hand, her right hand, and pointed once at The Cloaked Man.  Alia took in a breath, and Van looked down at her—reassuring. _

     Softer in tone, Alia continued.  "Please, such dark action from you is enough.  We saw and heard.  And we do not doubt what passed.  Also, Van and I both hold no doubt as to what _would have passed without our intervention.  Intervention against your own actions."_

     The Cloaked Man stopped, crossed his arms, really thinking and deciding.  Apparently, both his party members seemed to turn on him.  But he needed them both in reaching the City of Slow Dreams; the dream vision said so.  Because of what he truly was, he could not ignore his own revealed vision.  They were close to the goal, and he did not want his two party members abandoning him so close to there.  

     Finally speaking, The Cloaked Man tried to patch up.  "Okay, okay.  Maybe I over-acted."  He spread his hands out.  "We all do that sometimes, right?  And we're all still party members.  Right, right?  A party, a team, like a temporary family.  Right, right, right?"  

     He saw Alia bring her left hand out of Van's hold, and the small cyborg crossed them.  Alia pale hair fluttered in slight breezes as she looked up at The Cloaked Man, him illuminated in the firelight.  She saw him smiling, his warm brown eyes twinkling.  Her own dark eyes perusing his friendly brown ones in this near darkness light…

     But Van relented first.  "You're right," she said, hesitantly.  Her face serious, she added, "Because we don't have anyone else.  It's logical.  We're all alone, and no one else cares about us.  I don't really know all of Alia's story, but myself, I was nothing until she and you found me."

     _And you found me, _too, _ thought Alia, looking at The Cloaked Man.  She deeply regretted and condemned what The Cloaked Man was going to do.  She worried her memory to cite a particular code of honor.  As with, when she first awakened in the plains, how it took some effort to recall her name.  Yet, as her brain was soon set to waste away in Brunswick, The Cloaked Man came to help._

     Perhaps by citing a vaguely remembered moral code, Alia was somehow helping The Cloaked Man in turn.  She could better help him if she remained with him as a party member.  That was a way to return favor to The Cloaked Man.

    "Then…" began Alia.  The Cloaked Man bent over as so he was eye-to-eye with Alia.  "I remain in your party, Cloaked Man.  Yet I wish lessening of your developing brutality."

     The Cloaked Man jumped up, fist punching up into the air.  "Yay!  Goody, goody!"  Landing, he said.  "Great.  And I know where the Woodsies stashed our nuke bikes," he said.  "I saw them by fat Judge's cabin.  We get them, and it won't take more than half an hour for me to locate the highway again.  I'm really sure, because…"  He hesitated, eyes dimming.  "Because I can _feel it.  We're pretty close to that City.  Then we can live good lives."  He looked at Van.  "Even if we aren't really living beings."_

     They found the nuke bikes, as where The Cloaked Man said they would be.  And it took just under thirty minutes for him to guide the way through the absolutely darkened woods.  The highway was there.  

     All three mounted the long motorcycles, started the engines.  Headlights flared on, lighting the way ahead on this night-darkened road through the woods.  And The Cloaked Man led the way out of here.  As for the surviving Woodsies, they were left to recover on their own. 


	9. Dream Chapter 9...

City of Slow Dreams:  Chapter 9 (by Elliot Bowers)

     Braving the vast deep darkness of the night-dark road, The Cloaked Man rode dashingly at the front of the party—his nuke bike's headlight blazing ahead.  His cape madly flapped fiercely as he leaned forward into his rapid speed.  As Van and Alia were both behind him, neither could see whatever expression The Cloaked Man sported on his face.  Van's face was deadpan with concentration; Alia's face held a hint of frown.     

     They were not out of the darkened woods yet.  Rumbling along on their nuke bikes, they sped at a somewhat worrying speed along through this night road in this forest.  Worrying, as their vehicles' smooth tires had troubles dealing with the leaves and branches strewn along this road.  

     Very worrying.  Having electromechanically powered bodies meant that crashing was itself far from bringing death.  However, crashing meant coming to a stop; their rapid-dash progress through these blackened woods would be stifled.  And they did _not want to be stopped again.  No, they had trouble enough with what they encountered once encountered.  Also worrying, Alia and Van worried about random encounters in these woods because of what would happen to the emotional health of The Cloaked Man.  _

     Alia thought on The Cloaked Man.  There was the way he acted during that last random encounter—with the Woodsies—revealed more of the _something about him, that something first brought out in Fusion City.  The __something that was more dangerously revealed back with the Woodsies, their lives now more darkened because of what The Cloaked Man did.  _

     Van tolerated The Cloaked Man before before, his very deeply careless attitude.  But The Cloaked Man's stint of murderous sadism, that was something Van's electronic mind had worry with.    It showed more to the synthetic-bodied man with the cape.  Maybe, The Cloaked Man was something other than a friend from Brunswick.  Maybe, something else...

      Still, the metal-type cyborg and the gynoid followed.  Followed flyingly behind the caped madman at this mad speed. Following and flying along this asphalt path through trees in the darkness, the woods.  

     Alia's worries deepened as night went on—a slow fear made by two fears.  She was unsure if the woods or the darkness made for more fear.  Either escaping the woods or the end of night would help.  But the steady brightness of the vehicles' headlights provided courage and relief, at least.     

     In fact, both types of relief came nearing the same time.  At 0557 hours, they reached the border of these woods as sunlight reached over the border of this land's horizon.  The three approached the border where the trees stopped growing, and the grass of the plains began.  The plains beyond these woods were brightening with the warm light of sunrise.  

      With sunlight lightening the open land, three speeding nuke bikes sped on out of the woods.  Alia could not stop herself from smiling with relief and renewed happiness.  It was no longer dark.

     Before them were miles of the open plains again.  But unlike the seemingly vast infinity of the previous plains, there was a definite limit.  Because over there, off in the distance, there was a low mountain range that walled off the horizon.  

     Those were low chunky mountains that were not in place by natural processes; War-induced tectonic disturbances upset the land and caused the mountains to form.  And then the mountains far over there would be for millennia and eons.  Forming a natural wall around a very important valley.  The Cloaked Man knew the importance of that valley—because he could _feel it. _

     He decelerated, maneuvered as so he no longer rode up front, but rode at the side of Alia and Van.  Speaking over bike rumble, he loudly said, "_You three see those mountains?  The City we're after is beyond them."  Both party members said nothing immediately.  "__You heard me right!  Almost there!" he said.  __Because I can feel it, and you two just don't know, he thought—not quite wanting to say that aloud.  _

     Small Alia spoke with amplified voice, also speaking above engine rumble.  "_Then, ride us onward.  We pleasantly await journey's end."  As she said this, she turned her face slightly away from The Cloaked Man—to hide a smile she could not keep down.  Alia was just so very happy.  Childish glee, compounded with the elation she already felt from being out of the darkened forest._

     With this flat windblown highway road along the plains, they were able to speed across these plains in twenty minutes.  No one looked at their speedometers as they flew, but they did go beyond any of the speed limits set when these highways were first built.          

     After twenty minutes more speed, they really did want to slow.  Now, the three were at that once far-off mountain range.  No longer a distant view, it was an immense geographical obstacle.  Those immense chunky mounds rose out of the plains, with the highway curving left alongside.  

     They stopped along the left-leaning curve—their nuke bike engines gong quiet as The Cloaked Man soberingly regarded the gargantuan barrier.  Pondering on it, he let his thoughts wander…  Wander a touch more.  Then he frowned a bit.  All this way, and they faced sheer mountains.  

     "Folks, I have _good and __bad for you," he said, swiveling on his nuke bike's seat. "Let me give the __good first, because you put up with me so far:  This road probably leads through these mountains.  It leads through a road through a cut-out ravine.  Beyond that is, heh, heh, heh…  __You know!_

     "About the _bad, though, I get the general feeling that we're going to encounter some big things, likely another settlement."   Alia's light eyebrows went up:  slight inquiry.  The Cloaked Man spoke on.  "Don't ask and inquire around and about how I begin-start to know this creep-stuff ahead of time.  Closest thing to an answer is, closer I get to the City of Slow Dreams, the better I get at that sort of thing.  Creepy ability of mine, but I'm starting up to be a creepy guy.  More creepy than you, Alia!_

     "Anyway, more about the _good," he continued as he ignored Alia's reproaching stare, "we're almost there.  So don't start asking, 'Are we there yet?'  'Are we there yet?'  Because we are almost, nearly, practically, virtually, frightfully, very, very close!  __Yeah!"  With that, The Cloaked Man started his nuke bike.  Roared off with a squeal of spinning rubberoid tires.  Alia and Van screeched tires to follow, keep up.     _

     In fact, the roadway did go quite a few mile at the land bordering the mountain range.  Leading to another settlement.  An odd settlement.  Seen from several miles away, it was a place of candy colored houses and buildings.  Somewhere near the middle was a tent with a top that poked out from the building-tops.  

     Gort Shocko's New Carnival was a settlement with the size and setup of six city blocks put together.  In coincidental fact, the carnival was actually somewhat like a part of Brunswick's residential area grafted to the bottom of the mountain.  But there was just the shape of Brunswick, not the colors.

    They motored ahead a bit, came within half a mile to look closer.  From where his party stopped, The Cloaked Man thought that settlement looked whacked—goofy.  Goofy buildings with goofy colors on them.  And from here, he saw how some of those people were dressed in floppy clothes that were just as colorful.  Wasn't it too early in the morning to dressed like someone on rush pills?  

     A smirk twisting his face, he glimpsed back to see the others' reactions.  Van looked at the distant settlement with whatever robot-girls have for curiosity.  Alia's big dark dollish dark eyes were even bigger, her small mouth slightly open in rapt adoration.  The Cloaked Man rolled his own eyes.  

_     How cornball, he thought__.  How could they like something so darned goofy looking?  "How can you two like something so darned __goofy looking?" he asked them, aloud.  "That settlement looks like its been done by candymakers turned architects."  _

     Alia and Van said nothing, just looked at the joyfully colored carnival-settlement.   Oh, the colors.  The _colors!  From here, it had beauty.  How much more beautiful would it be close up?  _

     The three finally rode the final distance to that multi-colored settlement next door to the mountains.  Coming closer to that multi-colored settlement almost made The Cloaked Man miss Brunswick.  As ghetto as it was, Brunswick's houses were not painted with vertical candy colored stripes.  And, certainly, Brunswick's people were not as colorful and as varied as the people that walked along the soft-shouldered paved streets.  Neat paved streets.  A permanent carnival at the foot of a mountain—for who?

     They slowed, gently riding along the main street.  Along the sides of the streets were buildings and houses, candy-colored vertical stripes in prominent display.  This scenic riding through the settlement way was the same sort of unofficial and unsaid self-introductory ritual they used with Fusion City: riding out in plain view, hoping to get friendly attention.  

     And then, passing two blocks of painted houses and buildings, they came to the two-story, candy-striped tent—a "big top," a term originating in the Old Days.  The three parked single file, parked before the immense tent.

     Outside it was a small group of carnival people:  three authentic clowns with big colorful hair (not wigs!) and oversized floppy clothes.   They talked and listened to the most normally dressed of their group:  that six-foot man in red formal getup.  A black cylindrical hat—a top hat—topped the man off and made him seem taller.  He must be important.

     Alia, Van and The Cloaked Man dismounted from their nuke bikes, tried to look friendly, as that red-dressed man and his clown cohorts approached.  Well, well, well, off-season newcomers!  Not quite strangers, as the carnival had real strange people.  The red-suited man stopped at The Cloaked Man, looked left.  His pale and dark-mustached face contemplative and analyzing each of them, especially the smallest.  

     Interesting metal-type cyborg here—very interesting.  Four feet tall, waif-thin and with pale blonde hair, as he expected.  Likely, her hair went to the top of her shoulders—the top of her smooth back.  Facial features exactly as pert and sharp, also as expected.  Yes, one of those three newcomers was actually a petite cyborg elf.  From a distance, it would have looked as if she wore a form-fitting suit of metal armor from the neck down.  Yet, the CarnivalMaster knew that that was not a suit of armor…

     "Howdy-do," said The Cloaked Man, interrupting the man's perusal.  "Not to be rude or anything, but we're new around here, and my party members—if not myself—were so darned interested in your colorful settlement that we had to stop in.  

     "And good morning in return, newcomers!" said the red-suited man, tipping his hat.  "I'm the CarnivalMaster.  And these…" He spread his arms to refer to the clowns around him, "These are clowns.  Mr. Clunk, Ms. Bogus and Mr. Yojo."  The three clowns bobbed their colorful heads and said _Hiya, __hiya.  "They are but a few of many performers of this settlement: __Gort Shocko's New Carnival!  Welcome, one and all!" _

     _Oh-kay, thought The Cloaked Man, a bit put off by the CarnivalMaster's big exuberance.   "Let me properly introduce the individuals of my party.  I'm The Cloaked Man, just so you know."  He gestured to his right.  "The Japanese-looking girl-woman to my right is Van, a synthetic robot-girl.  Gynoid.  Pretty, ain't she?  Pretty __realistic in every way.   Yeah, and she's completely synthetic:  polymers and electromechanics.         _

     "And the little metal-bodied waif that has your attention," he said, gesturing to his left, "is Alia."  Alia blinked in looking up at the CarnivalMaster.  "She's an elfin cyborg.  Or a cyborg elf.  What's the official noun for you for you anyway, Alia…?  Forget it.  Anyway, that isn't a costume she's wearing.  She's a metal-type cyborg with a synth-flesh face, polymer strands of hair in her scalp, but her brain is real.  Her freaky albino-pale hair probably gave away her away for being an elf, though…"

     Mr. Clunk bent over as so his big head was level with Alia's.  He said to her, cyborg, "Wowee!  Hi there, little girl-elf!  I bet you get lots of attention because of your little metal body!  Huh-huh-huh?  Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

     Alia felt a huge smile coming on, but she tried to keep it closed—looked down at the grass instead.  "Well," she said, "attention is…gained.  But it is not the pleasant attention you give me now, Mr…" Alia's cheeks dimpled in trying to keep down a giggle.  "Mr. Clunk…  Ha ha…  Oops."

     Mr. Clunk made a face, and Alia burst a giggle.  Still with giggle in her voice, she said, "So wonderful!  Mr. Clunk, you amuse!"  Another silly face from the clown, and that did it: Alia was overriden with an attack of laughter.  So overriden with the silly spasms that her mobility systems were affected; she went to her knees:  a giggle-sillied little girl.

     The CarnivalMaster looked at the interaction between Mr. Clunk and Alia.  He said, "What I did not quite tell you is that we rarely get real-brained visitors in the off-season.  So we are not too busy with shows this time of year.  But from the way your friend behaves, I would think that an off-season show is in order."  He looked at The Cloaked Man, the CarnivalMaster's dark eyes looking into The Cloaked Man's less-serious brown ones.  "Indeed, a show put on for the benefit of your friend.  If I know elves as well as I believe, I believe that the young one there needs a good dose of laughter.  I will be glad to organize an exhibition for your metal-bodied elf-friend."

     The Cloaked Man smirked.  "Elf?  Yeah, so her brain's elfin!  So what!  She doesn't need any freaking _special treatment.  Alia has plenty of fun with us.  In fact, she's going to have __more fun when we get over this mountain range and into The City of Slow Dreams.  Right, Alia?"  Alia giggled on.  "Right?" asked The Cloaked Man, again._

     The CarnivalMaster continued, sober-speaking.  "Yes sir, the City of Slow Dreams is a pleasant place to go and live.  But note, even people from there come out across the mountain to enjoy our performances.  And we enjoy giving our performances.  No offense to your darling gynoid-friend, but we enjoy performing for a real-brained audience.  

     "The 'audience' we have for practice exhibitions consists of very simple robots that are programmed to cheer and evaluate our performance—simple A.I."  The red-suited man looked at Van, peering.  "Hmm…  Yes, we would also enjoy putting on a performance for your gynoid friend; her simulated personality seems more complex than the simple robots of our audience…"

     The Cloaked Man gave a face of his own, and it was not meant to be funny.  "What?  Are you serious?  You mean, you want us to hang around to watch your freaks at work?"  A pause, and there was the background sound of Alia's happy sounds; the elfin cyborg  went on giggling as Mr. Clunk and his two clown cohorts even made her chortle and guffaw yet more with their silly talk. 

     Seeming to ignore that, The Cloaked Man continued.  "We just want to get to the City of Slow Dreams, see?  You said that people from _there come __here seasonally.  Well, I want to be __there, permanently.  I want to get __there as soon and as wind-quick possible.  I really don't have time to clown around…  I want darned good…" Then Van nudged his elbow with her left._

     She cut in, saying to the CarnivalMaster, "Please, ignore that for now.  My buddy here is a little bit…  Um, _disturbed.  Let me talk to him for a minute in private…" With The Cloaked Man stunned at that interruption and declaration, the synthetic Japanese teenager grasped him by the elbow.  Led him five yards away from the CarnivalMaster—a bit farther away from Alia's gleeful sounds._

     She looked at The Cloaked Man.  As she was nearly as tall as he was, she managed to look him effectively in the eye, her own ceramic dark eyes angry.  "_I want to slap you!" she said in an angry whisper-voice.  "__Don't you care about how Alia feels?"_

     "Feelings?  Pshaw!  What—me worry?" loudly commented The Cloaked Man, shrugging.  Van shushed him.  More quietly, he said, "_Look and listen up.  All I want to care about is getting ourselves going to The City of Slow Dreams.  Thought you were down with that, Van.  What's up with you now?"_

     Van continued her anger-toned whisper-talking, "_Didn't the CarnivalMaster tell you that the City is already so close that people come here on seasonal trips?  We've gone with you this far and did almost everything your way.  Now, will you do Alia at least this favor?"_

     "_Hey," he answered in a similar voice, "__I did you a favor by not killing off the rest of those damned Woodsies!  I wanted those backwoods jackasses dead for trying to mess me up.  I did a favor by catering to your cracked simulated sympathy."_

     Van had a quick answer.  "_No, that was a favor for you, __Cloaked Man!   My own mind isn't biologically based, but I have plenty of stored data on the psychology of real brains.  _

_     "And with that data, I saw that you were going nuts!  Growing more psycho—more sadistic—with every kill.  If you killed the rest of the Woodsies, you could've become worse than you already are!"  Van leaned a bit back, her dark hair slightly swishing with the slight breeze.  Speaking normally, "Anyway, Alia needs some real fun—the fun the CarnivalMaster offered._

     "And look at her!  Just look!"  Van quickly grabbed the unprotesting Cloaked Man by his shoulders—made him turn to look.  "_Alia tries her very best to be treated like a full-grown human being.  But she's still a little person.  And she was never human.  From analysis done by part of my thought processors, Alia's psychological state has something to do with premature body replacement.  _

     "_Yes, her permanent psychological state has something to do with how her body was replaced with a metal one before she grew up.  Even though she has great relative intelligence and good skills, she is still a child.  And all children need fun._

     "_And if you won't let Alia have real fun for once in her new life, then maybe we will have to fight."  Van took a dangerous step to stand before The Cloaked Man, the gynoid's slim form stiff with real anger.  "I mean that," she added, voice not whispering._

     The Cloaked Man stared at the presupposing gynoid.  He then leaned right to look over her shoulder, looking at Alia being kidded up by clowns.  Now he saw that those clowns were trying to fit the CarnivalMaster's hat on Alia's head.  The big tall hat kept slipping and covering her little elfin-girl head.  She laughed and tried lifting it up, but the silly clowns kept up their deliberately foolish attempts at putting the hat on, insisting that that is how a hat should really fit.  

     This was silly stupid business, but he had to put up with this if he didn't want his party to break up.  And, so close to the City of Slow Dreams!  So close!  

     The same feeling that compelled him this far also compelled him to keep his party whole.  And he did not want to have to eliminate the gynoid.  By now, with his strength and abilities truly strengthened, he did not doubt that he could destroy her with a single attack.  

     That, or he could try reprogramming her with certain abilities that began to grow in his mind now, convince her to worship him.  Oh yes, proximity to The City of Slow Dreams was strengthening him.  That, even if it was darkening him…

     He looked back into Van's ceramic eyes.  "Okay, okay.  But we're not going to be here past tomorrow.  In fact, you don't want me staying here into the night, right?"  _Because I might do something._

     From behind Van, a loud shriek sounded out—a shriek of sheer joy from Alia—followed by a lung-emptying attack of less-loud giggles.  "Just one day, Cloaked Man," said Van to The Cloaked Man.  "One day of simple happiness in Alia's life.  Is that too much to ask for her?"

     The Cloaked Man turned from Van and everyone, his cape swirling as he looked across the street.  Thinking, _Dang nabbit, I wish some people would just grow up—even if they can't.  What a party:  a teenage girl-robot with attitude, and a little cyborg elf-girl whose brain will never grow up.  _

     He exhaled, audibly.  _Never had to baby-sit before, never.  Never even wanted a hint of that ancient profession.  Another audible breath from him, a breeze from his mouth.  __Ah well,I can put up with Alia being her regressed self—until we get to that City._

    He turned back to Van, who waited with patience.  Looking into her dark eyes, he spoke with a pained and tired expression on his face.  "Ah well, what the Hell.  Guess I can put up with a bit more kiddie mess after all the tepid madness we went through. 

     And then Van leapt forward to hug him.  "Hey hey!" reacted The Cloaked Man, struggling in the hug.  "Don't rumple the haberdashery here!  Trying to punish me or something?  Bad on me?"

     Van smiling, The Cloaked Man less so, they went back to Alia, who was still being clowned around by the locals.  The Cloaked Man accepted the CarnivalMaster's offer of a show.  The caped synth-fleshed madman then reached into his left pocket, apported some cash for any admission costs.  But the CarnivalMaster said that Gort Shocko's New Carnival synthesized all that they needed or received supplies from the generous City of Slow Dreams; no cash was needed this time of year.  And again, the presence of living-brained audience members—out of season—was enough.  With that said, The CarnivalMaster told them that the next practice performance was in fact being prepared now.  With the big top already up, the CarnivalMaster only had to make a few additional preparations for a full practice exhibition.

     About thirty minutes later, hand in hand, Alia and The Cloaked Man were walking into the vast two-story tent.  Alia's left hand held The Cloaked Man's right, and her free hand carefully held a hollow cardboard rod covered with a fluffy candy cloud—cotton candy.  Alia took a delicate mouthful of her cotton candy, then looked around.  Her eyes were huge with awe.  

     From Alia's vantage point, this was a scene of awe.  In this tent were metal and synth-wood risers on the left and right of the aisle in.  Seats where the "audience" of robots sat, programmed to behave simply like a crowd—realistic chatter and clothing included.  They sat around the large show ring in the middle, a ring floored with compressed dirt:  compressed and packed dirt from all the off-season practice done by the people of Gort Shocko's New Carnival.       

     "This _amazes," commented Alia, her voice low.  Small pert face smiling, she looked up at The Cloaked Man.  "Is this with amazement for you?"  In her enthusiasm and adoration, she didn't quite see the pain-tinted expression he had on his face._

     But forcing a smile and looking down at her, he said, "Oh, _yeah!  It's really…__something.  In fact, I don't hate this as much as I expected!"  He looked to the high-riser seating at the left.  "Now, let's see if there is any space in this synthetic audience for real-brained people."  _

     They went to get seats.  His face somewhat blank and ears somewhat hearing the passive simulated chatter of the "audience," The Cloaked Man passively led smiling Alia toward the tall risers along the left.  Some members in the second-to-last row here actually moved over to allow The Cloaked Man and Alia good seats.  Shoot, they were simple robots; they had better move aside for The Cloaked Man.

     They found seats, and they found some attention, too.  The elfin cyborg-girl was more than content to eat her cotton candy and look at the ring in the minutes before showtime.  Her bigger companion looked left and glimpsed at a group of glassy staring eyes, before those eyes looked away.  

_     What the heck?  Never saw a cape before? thought The Cloaked Man.  He whipped his curly head right, caught the indirect stare of a chubby android-boy before he-it looked away again.  Then he noticed that the last semi-covert stare was at Alia, not him.  He revised his last unspoken comment.  __What the heck?  Never saw a metal-bodied elf-girl before?  All the while, Alia did not notice those stares._

     The Cloaked Man decided to be a bit crafty.  He slowly turned his head to feint a look at the ring.  Then, breeze-quick, he whipped his face left to look at the brown-suited fake android-man to his right—an android with a plain man's face and plain brown hair.  "Pardon my request for pardoning," he said to the android-man, "but there is a possible  possibility that you have interested interest in my cyborg.  I question for an answer, pardon my begging your pardon."

     The android put on a face of complete confusion:  right eyebrow went up; left eyebrow down, mouth forming a small "o."  Apparently, the synthetic man was much more simple-minded than the more-advanced robot Van—less acclimated to The Cloaked Man's convoluted and meandering talk.  "Sir," began the brown-suited android-man, "Please restate the request more simply.  I could not process the previous remarks."

     "_Eh?  What's the matter with you?" responded The Cloaked Man.  Slowly nodding his curly haired head, he said, "Oh, you're a __simple robot.  The CarnivalMaster said that you audience-bots were pretty low-tech.  Okay, let me try again."  He stopped nodding his head.  "Now, why the staring?"  He leaned a bit toward the android-man.  "Is that simple enough for you, Simple Simon?"_

     The brown-suited android-man answered.  "Question:  You ask why I stare.  Answer:  I stare because your companion is often a fervent performer of Gort Shocko's New Carnival.  Additional information is as follows: Your companion never actually sat to watch an exhibition before.  She does so now, which draws stares.  Additional information:  She randomly retreats to rest and recover.  She never before did so in the stands."

     Now, it was The Cloaked Man's face wearing discombobulation.  "What in _tarnation?  No, seriously.  Alia has never been in any sort of carnival-like or circusy sort of thing.  I found her on the streets.  And she's a War antique.  So, between being a stasis-locked War antique, a rusting street-lush and a current member of my adventuring and traveling party, where would she find time to be some sort of performer?"_

     The plain android man in brown suit leaned back slightly on his seat.  He was either listening to the din of the crowd around or was having difficulty processing The Cloaked Man's ranting talk. 

     The android-man answered.  "The lattter questioning is impossible to process.  My ability to process speech and direct conversation is quite limited.  Would you please rephrase the question in a more simple manner?"

     This made for The Cloaked Man becoming annoyed.  "No, I will _not rephrase my question in a more simple silly way.  If you ain't comprehended the statement, then don't expect furthermore from me.  Put that in your low-budget processors and smoke it.  Get me?  Or, don't you get me?  You __don't get me."_

     Apparently, the brown-suited android-man did not get The Cloaked Man's meanings.  He-it was just a simple-minded robot, after all.  And after all, he-it was primarily programmed to react to the practice performances.  More an aesthetics-evaluating A.I., not quote powerful enough to have a full and decent human personality.

     With all this, The Cloaked Man did not get the answer he wanted.  He looked right, at the little cyborg who ate her cotton candy and waited for the show to begin.  "Hey, Alia?  Were you ever a fervent carnival performer?"

     "Hmm?"  Alia broke off her stare at the ring, then swallowed her current mouthful of cotton candy before talking.  "Carnival performer?" she gently asked, faint sweet candy smell.  "Cloaked Man, that is beyond my own training or experience.  Entertainment is for me to enjoy, not quite to attempt to create."

     He squinted at her.  "Are you _sure you were never in any sort of carnival?  You were in stasis for so long, maybe your brain still has trouble with memory.  Don't you have even an inkling of memory about performing with carnie-people?"_

     Alia looked serious for a moment, her dark eyes taking on a far-off look.  Light eyebrows bent slightly.  She gave a slight shake of her head.  "No memories at all, Cloaked Man.  Absolute absence, not even hints of memory."  She brought around her right arm, metal hand holding colorful cotton candy.  "A bit of this?"

     The Cloaked Man bit some of the sugary cloud off of the top, and it dissolved into light sweetness.  Thinking, _this situation is an odd one.  He wanted answers.  Then Alia tugged at his right sleeve and pointed with her cotton candy:  The CarnivalMaster and some clowns had entered the ring before them.  _

      This show was beginning.  He was glad that Alia still retained enough of her ordinarily calm bearing to not hop up and down.  Glad for her not acting too much like the young elfin-type person she really was inside.  

     Van had one thousand two-hundred and forty-three dollars from The Cloaked Man.  Cash in her right pocket, the gynoid was now free to wander around this carnival-style settlement.  Wandering, walking the long neat streets sided by vertically striped houses and buildings.  The Cloaked Man gave her the money in his typical fashion:  in random denominations.  

     Actually, there was nothing for her to spend money on.  Her wandering along the streets brought her near the end of Main Street—the commercial part of this settlement—and past all the businesses.  There were some stores, but they primarily sold general goods for humans and synth-flesh cyborgs: Clothes, foods, nanobot-based home-maintenance items, the like.  Some of the silly painted stores sold frivolities, like portable electronics.  

     Van had money but did not have want of anything.  Also, she had no real needs.  How could a gynoid like herself—a robot, a possession—_own anything?  Regardless of how realistic she looked, deep in the crystal-matrix processors of her electronic mind was the invincible truth of what she was.  Van took out the sheath of dollars from her right slacks pocket, the essentially useless money.  Then, The Cloaked Man's granted spending money could be interpreted as a prank.   _

     The solitary place of interest along Main Street, among the buildings, was the library.  It was a place of data to take in.  Van went there, went to two-story and rectangular white structure at the middle of the lane, simply labeled with foot-high letters above the front entrance:  MAIN LIBRARY.   Van opened the double doors at the front, then went inside.

     This was a library of books—shelves and more shelves of books filling this space.  Of course, there was a desk up front:  a rectangular front desk with two tall male librarians, both brown-haired, wearing slacks and white shirts with ties.   Further back and on the second floor, there were tables for reading.  Otherwise, this was a two-story indoor lake of shelved books.

     According to historical data loaded into Van's mind, libraries were heavily book-based since the Old Days:  The days of and after the War meant so much disruption that fancier formats—electronics, data disks, and the like—were often destroyed.  In fact, book-stored knowledge became critical to building human cities from settlements after the War.  Books stored the knowledge of technology and much more.

     Then, the technology that went into making Van herself was stored on pages.  Thinking this, the gynoid walked past the front desk.  She would find something to read for the next hour.    

     One librarian looked up when the slender dark-haired "girl" passed, then went back to checking the late-morning inventory.  Newcomers, always welcome.  If she needed help, she could always come to the front desk.  Could ask for help until she was as acclimated to library usage as everyone else—like Alia…

     In fact, Van turned around and came back to the desk.   This library used an esoteric letter-based system to classify its works.  Van had data on the Dewey Decimal system, not the system used here.  Over here, she asked vaguely, "Excuse me, where is your historical data?"  She got a look.  "Sorry, your history books?"

     The left librarian thought, _Odd interest for a young person.   "History is on the second floor, ma'am.   Up the stairs on the east side, near the center tables.  Check section _

O-HT."  Van nodded a _thanks, then went up the stairs.     _

     Came to the second floor.  There were tables here where she could sit and read books from the many shelves around.  Not that she ever needed to relax her synthetic body when reading, but sitting at a stable surface—like a table—allowed more efficient scanning.  Several people were already here:  some scattered children with various hair colors, three middle-aged adults with gray hair.   

     Van found the two shelves marked O-HT.  Yes, there were plenty of texts.  She picked one:  _Ethnicity, Nationality and Old-Time Stupidity by Thom Highlander Erick.  A thin volume of just about two hundred pages._

     Van took the book to a table.  Then she began reading the words, storing the information in her electronic brain.  She "read" the first page slowly to get the format and spacing of the text.  From there, she took in a page a second.  Like human eyes, her ceramic eyes had to focus; her eyes raced along typed lines.

     In five minutes, She had took in all the book's data.  Not that Van's artificial mind was too capable of deeply analyzing the text, but she at least had a flawless copy of the book's data now in her memory, ready for any possible future use.  All knowledge likely has use at some time. 

     Finally, she stood up from her seat—and then her eyes then snapped to look on a petite female at another table.  From where Van was, she could see the shoulder-length blonde hair against a slim back—pale hair in contrast to her long-sleeved black shirt.  The hair was combed straight, and upper tips of slightly pointed ears poked out from the sides.  _Elfin, that girl was elfin…_

     Van quickly returned the library book to the bottom returner-shelf of its section, then walked back to the tables.  She sat at the first table to watch the elfin being very quietly read.  Other than turning pages, no sounds came from her.  This was a chance to observe and analyze. 

     Could Van have correctly identified that person?  Logic dictated otherwise.  That could not be her.  She would spend an hour watching and analyzing.  With something to occupy her thought processors, this would be what she did.

     Sixty minutes later, Van decided to approach.  Walked along and up behind the small elfin girl.  The girl was reading a book, quiet and content.  When she sensed someone behind her, she quietly looked up from her book—her posture stiff and with a familiar air.

     "Alia?" asked Van.  "I thought you were with The Cloaked Man.  Where did he go?"  A pause.  "Oh great, don't tell me he's out causing trouble with locals.  We'll have to talk to that guy again, won't we?"

     There was a space of silence as the girl thought.  "The Cloaked Man?  The name-title lacks familiarity.  I give an apology.  Also, please allow apology for my inattentiveness, but reading is much."  The elf then went back to reading her big book.   

     Van began to worry.  She went to the other side of the table and sat down opposite Alia.  Then she more fully saw the clothes that Ala wore now.  In addition to the black top visible above the table, Alia wore white gloves over her small fine hands.  "Uh, why are you wearing those gloves?  Why are you wearing human clothes, anyway?  I thought you didn't like the way clothes prevented air circulation over your metal body."

     That led to a quick and worried look from Alia.  Also noticeable were the odd stares from the other patrons on this floor.  Returning her stare to Van, Alia spoke in an angered—and hurt—whisper.  "_Madam, need you talk of such in this place?  My body is my solitary business.  Especially__ with conversation to strangers.  Is there explanation for your odd behavior?"_

     Returning the courtesy of speaking in a whisper, Van said, "_What's wrong with you?  We're this close to the City of SlowDreams, and you you're this way?  Did The Cloaked Man say something to you that you didn't like?"  Van then reached forward to brush a few loose strands of Alia's hair, as she did when Alia was dosed by the Woodsies' sedation gas.  "__Hmm?  Was it him, The Cloaked Man?"  _

     Alia flinched back from the gynoid's close touch.  The gynoid's hand stopped, then pulled back.  The clothed elfin being whispered, "_Then, you presume and assume I know of this Cloaked Man.  That goes because you believe me a part of your circle of friends?"  _

     Van said, "_Alia, you're more than just a friend.  You're a part of our traveling group.  You know, a party member.  After all this, you suddenly forget about your allies?"_

     Alia's dark eyes widened, her mouth forming a small "o" of surprise.  Then a vague hint of smile came to her small mouth.  "_Truly, this Cloaked Man and you are curiosities.  Allow finishing of this chapter of reading.  Next will be me accompanying you.  Introduction to the rest of your, ah, party."  Then, the blonde being tilted her pretty head forward, consiprationally.  "__You have my name, but do I have yours?"  Van gave her name, then waited as Alia read and finished the chapter.  _

     Fifteen minutes later, Van and Alia walked out of the library, side by side.  And they began walking in the direction of the big top.  It was an oddly familiar contrast, the tall "girl" and the elfin cyborg.  But something was unfamiliar.  Something in parts of Van's logic processors refused to believe this; parts of her electronic mind kept to thinking that Alia was supposed to be with The Cloaked Man.

     They approached the big top.  Alia glimpsed left and up at Van, then looked ahead again, looking at the familiar building-sized tent.  "May we stop for quick preliminary conversation?" she asked the gynoid.  "I need hints more of introductory."  Van stopped, Alia stopped right at her side—both now facing down the colorful house-lined street.

     The petite cyborg paused, seeking to carefully word her questioning.  "To begin on this, tell of the rest of your party.  Are the members as accessibly friendly as yourself?  Or, are there any traces of instability?"

     Van answered.  "Well, Alia—the _other Alia—is a nice person.  Very nice, but I worry about her.  Because of all the things she's been through.  But she's very easy to get along with!  Really!  And both of you act __very alike._

     "The Cloaked Man, though…  Well, you have to listen to him very carefully.  I mean, his words are _all over the place.  If it weren't for all the data I've had from experience with humans, I would not be able to process what he says sometimes."  _

     _Data?  Process?  Alia looked up at Van, inquiry.  "Please do explain.  Why reference to knowledge stated as data?  Wording of that sort only comes with being a robot."  _

     A plain-voiced answer from Van.  "I am a robot."  A pause, a skyborne breeze across this street.  "You didn't know, Alia?  It's just that my body is synth-flesh, with my hair made of polymer strands and my eyes just ceramics.  Inside me, there are electromechanics.  My brain is primarily electronics, with crystal-matrix processors."  Whispered, "_I'm not real…"  _

     Van felt Alia's touch:  two small gloved hands holding Van's right.  The feeling of metal beneath those white gloves.  She said, wind-soft, "Your voice sounds with hurt in saying such.  A hurt that holds truth—too much truth for you."  She released the hand.  "Most all robots I have encountered are simple-minded.  You are above most robots in sophistication; I failed to seriously see you as a gynoid."

     Van looked into the apologizing eyes of the elfin cyborg: large and dark eyes set in a round and delicate-featured face.  She just had to forgive someone so close to being Alia—so close that the elfin cyborg may as well be the Alia of their party.  

     Smiling, Van said to the cyborg, "That's okay.  You just didn't know.  Anyway, I think the exhibition should be over soon.  The Cloaked Man and the other Alia should be coming out."  She nodded her dark-haired head to the left, in the direction of the big top.  "Come on.  Let's go wait for them outside."

     They walked the rest of the way down the street, approaching the big top.  Actually, the exhibition was already over.  Van approached the open-flap entrance—just saw clowns milling around inside.

     Alia tugged the right sleeve of Van's blouse.  "I see myself," said the little cyborg.  "It seems, I am here and over there—with the CarnivalMaster."  And then Van looked in the direction of Alia's indication, seeing The Cloaked Man and the other Alia talking with the CarnivalMaster.

     Alia and Van approached Alia and The Cloaked Man.  Both of the other two still talked to the red-suited CarnivalMaster after the show—until the Cloaked Man glimpsed left.  He glimpsed, hen he more fully _looked.  __What in tarnation?_

_     He saw Van approaching with an elf-girl that looked exactly like Alia—was Alia.  Was Alia?  But an Alia dressed up in jeans and black sweater, with white gloves and white sneakers to compliment her light face and pale hair.  That __was who he though it was, or __was it someone else?_

     Approaching, Alia looked at Alia.  Alia smiled, crossed her arms.  In response, Alia tilted her head to the side.  To both Alia and Alia, both of them, this was immense amusement.  Beyond just interesting.     

     The Cloaked Man looked down, looked at Alia before looking over at Alia.  He looked at Alia again, then back at that other Alia—the elfin cyborg who didn't wear clothes over her armor-solid body.  As he did this, his face began to take on surprising contortions.  Finally, his shout came out and over everyone nearby:  "_O-oh, SHOOT!"_

     The CarnivalMaster patted The Cloaked Man on the right shoulder, then put hands on hips in looking down both at both Alias.  "And so, my fine friend," said the CarnivalMaster, "you found out the real reason for my interest in your elfin companion.  I hoped to find out how you came to an exact replica of Alia."

     The Cloaked Man took a jerking step back.  "Replica?"  A shake of his head.  "Uh, no.  Don't _think so!  I got myself the __real Alia from the streets of Brunswick, not from a carnival-style settlement."  He looked down at the bare metal Alia, her elfin face and titanium figure totally familiar.  And he looked at the clothed elfin girl—who had the same face and body as Alia._

     "Anyway," continued the man in the cape, "for all I know, that's a real-bodied elf-girl.  Or, at least, a synth-flesh gynoid phony.  _My Alia is a metal-type cyborg. Can't know what you're talking about, CarnivalMaster-man." _

     The CarnivalMaster thought on and around what The Cloaked Man said, then came to an answer.  Looking at clothed Alia, he said, "The caped gentleman here believes that you are not yourself. He thinks you're an imposter."  Turning to the caped gentleman-in-question, the CarnivalMaster said, "Then, sir, if you believe to know the difference between the so-called true Alia and the so-called phony, then let us try a simple test.  Turn around, both you and your other traveling companion." 

     Both Van and The Cloaked Man did as told.  They turned their backs, vaguely wondering about the test.  There were exchanged whispers, whispers between thee two Alias and the CarnivalMaster.  Slight soft rustling sounds.  Some light footfalls, light steps.  

     "Please, will the audience turn.  And _regard," commanded the CarnivalMaster.  Both Van and Thee Cloaked Man did so.  Van smirked, then the smirk spread into a smile.  The Cloaked Man's mouth showed open-mouth shock.  _

     "What the heck?" he managed to say.  Both Alias, without clothing, showed armored bodies that were exactly like.  Both had the same small-round elfin-girl faces, the pale shoulder-length hair, the petite and slim-proportioned frames.  Exactly, they were exactly alike.  The Cloaked Man shook his head.  "I can't believe what I don't believe.  Guess I'll have to, though. Right?"

     The CarnivalMaster, holding the clothes worn by Alia, answered.  "Guess no longer, because you _must believe," he said.  "Also, Alia—my Alia—told me that she would like to join your party.  She is interested in your party and your plans in the City.  Do you and your other party member agree to another Alia joining up?"_

     "Van nodded.  "Yeah, I want her to come.  Two Alias have to be better than just one Alia.  Since we're so close to the City, I think we're safer with more of us.  Right, Cloaked Man?"

     The Cloaked Man shrugged so emphatically that his cape rippled.  "What the heck!  Let's do it. Could always use the spare party member--even if she is a duplicate for dupes."    

     "Then that is excellent," said the left Alia.  "Now we will wait here while the new member's nuke bike is brought from its original place of rest and storage."  The left Alia nodded.  "Indeed, there is even an additional nuke bike—also adjusted for one of my same size."

     The CarnivalMaster called some plain-clothed workers--synth-flesh cyborgs originally from the City—to bring by all four nuke bikes.  The workers did, using a flat-backed transport to bring the vehicles.  In half an hour, after giving goodbyes, the party of      

four motored away from the carnival-style settlement--Gort Shocko's New Carnival and had for the nearby mountain road.  This was clearly the way through the mountains--and finally into the city seen in The Cloaked Man's dreams.   


	10. Dream Chapter 10

City of Slow Dreams: Chapter 10 (by Elliot Bowers) 

The four motored their way out and away from Gort Shocko's New Carnival, the nuke bikes thrumming along the roadway going into the mountains. Riding up ahead, the tan-skinned and wild-haired Cloaked Man continued to lead—his casual clothing flapping with the speed's breeze, his cape flapping more so. Van was immediately behind, almost flawlessly matching The Cloaked Man's riding speed: electronic-minded precision. Both doppelgangers rode at the back, left Alia and right Alia. Everyone's hair flapping and fluttering with the speed. 

At this point in the over-long journey, the original party members had their own ideals and dreams to think about, hopes and expectations in the City of Slow Dreams. Especially, this was a riding truth for the real-brained party members. They shared a deeper love of the goal than gynoids like Van could share—because real brains made for dreaming. 

But they all wanted to be there. Thoughts went to the place they approached. That was enough to occupy their minds while riding on this mountain road. 

Those party members were so preoccupied with preconceived ideals about the City that they did not notice minute changes around them. Maybe, it was something about how sunlight seemed slightly duller—though morning was turning into afternoon. Or, it could have been in how the air was a touch thinner. Changes. 

The biggest change was in the air currents-changes sometimes so drastic that The Cloaked Man's cape sometimes flapped a bit harder to the left. Flapped because of something coming in the breeze. Had The Cloaked Man been thinking of something other than his new life plans, he would have certainly acted and cared. 

But he did not care. Maybe, he did have an idea of what passed. Given his sensitivity to ambiance, the breeze, he could have detected the encroaching trouble. Could have. Should have. But he did not. No, The Cloaked Man was primarily preoccupied with what to do in the City. 

But, some other things did notice their environment—things. Small things, objects, embedded in the sides of the mountain roadway. The objects resembled round-topped tent-spikes, also installed like tent spikes as they were driven into the hardy mountain dirt and hard-scrabble. 

But these "spikes" had senses. The roadside spikes had slivers of metal on the sides for electronic ears to hear what passed along the road; their pinhead-sized electronic eyes were out to see minute changes in the winds. With those senses, these spikes detected a party of four—with one especially troubling member. That party member had an unacceptable electrical signature. Indeed, even after being unmaintained for so many decades after the War, enough of these roadside pikes worked to detect The Cloaked Man and his party. 

Unacceptable signature detected. In their basic electronic language, the spikes transmitted that message along in redundancy. Unacceptable signature detected. Unacceptable signature detected. Unacceptable signature detected. Though some of the roadside spikes were too circuit-damaged to transmit. Those spikes were bypassed. 

And within several seconds of the static-troubled electronic messaging, enough of the signal came through to reach the final and massive-bodied destination. Receiving that simple electronic message, the processors, mobility systems, and tensor-reinforced autorepair systems powered up after a decades-long rest. Unacceptable signature… detected: Moving to counter. 

In the meanwhile, the riding party of four was so distracted that they did not notice the attack until after it happened. Their minds somewhat in the breeze, them riding along and on the way to very likely happiness, the party was just fine until the blast. Actually, the blast was a very short-spaced series of blasts—four explosions so close together that they seemed like one. But the effects were horribly the same for all four. 

The party members' nuke bikes were knocked backward as the riders themselves were steadily flung forward. And then they smashed and flopped along the road like big tossed toys: synth-flesh and metal bodies. Flopping and flipping the roadway for a frightfully long time. 

Eventually, The Cloaked Man eventually came to his senses. What in tarnation? he thought, eyes looking up at the vast and slow blue sky above. Ah, such a big pretty sky. So deep and vast-blue. Oh, he could lie here all darned day, time to just watch all the dream clouds go by. Then some jerk had to interrupt his reverie with a girlie scream. Van's girlie scream. She screamed as realistically as she looked and behaved. 

"Dang it," he mumble-spoke, slowly standing. Brushing off embedded road grit from his slacks and tee shirt. Flapping his cape to do the same. "Why can't you people just let me live?" 

He then saw three other party members a bit further along the mountain road, those three standing side by side—Van just now recovering her composure. And then he saw what they were confronting now, the thing that made for Van's scream. Then he screamed. "Dang nabbit, what in tarnation is that?" 

That something—the thing that ultimately received the unacceptable signature detected signal–was now moving to counter. That something was massive, the width and mass of a small truck. Now, that thing clomped its way twenty yards from the crash-scrambled party of four, each footfall making for troubling sounds. Sounds like a demonic hybrid between a construction machine and a mountain troll. It looked like an MBD, only scarier. 

Though that thing had the general shape of a Military Battle Droid-a massive suit of armor-the thing that stood in the road now was bigger and more broad-shouldered. Much more broad. Now, that something was ready to play. In its own clear and graveled voice, the oversized and over-powered MBD spoke. "Unacceptable signature source identified: Darkened individual." And then the four had the second biggest fight they would ever have as a party. 

Battle! The Cloaked Man moved into position, to the far left of his fellow three party members: both Alias in the middle now, with Van on the far right of the big thing: big thing. Before them was an ever-so-oversized MBD. Even from twenty-five yards away, The Cloaked Man could feel machine heat coming from that thing. And his own synthetic skin was not even too sensitive to heat. 

The party had some experience in fighting MBDs, but that particular electromechanical troll was the wrong color—red. And the wrong size—too big. The party members stood there as the thing's two pole-thick arms waved-then the boxed ends of the arms opened up. Out of its right came a solid magnesium fist; out of its left came the stubby end of a cannon. 

Targeting… The MBDs simple electronic thought-processors targeted The Cloaked Man. There was a blast of florescent blue. And it made daylight flash brighter for a sliver of a second. 

Then The Cloaked Man was airborne from the shot, felt the road smack him in the back when he smash-landed. Dang it all, he thought, struggling to get himself up to a kneeling position—then staggering the ten yards back to his party. As he walked, he tugged at the hot wire mesh that had been fired into his tee-shirted chest—that wire mesh beginning to smoke and stick. 

In response, both Alias changed their attacking positions, flanking the oversized demon of a fighting machine. One Alia went to the left; the other Alia went to the right: two elf-sized cyborgs confronting a troll of a machine three times their size. Then, right Alia took a strong step forward, her machine-quick fists cl-clunking twice—impacting the MBD's armor. Left Alia kicked high, her right bootlet denting the leg armor of the MBD. 

Just a small dent. Still a significant dent that weakened the leg armor; heat radiated from that crack in the metal troll-beast. Interference with targeting, went the oversized MBD's mind. 

It then struck out with both arms. Both struck, both Alias were sent sprawling on their backs—stunned. And the MBD was still targeting The Cloaked Man. Damage cipher override: Targeting darkened individual, thought the too-big machine monster. It had another electronic visual lock on The Cloaked Man again—the caped and darkened individual—who was now approaching again. 

Targeted The Cloaked Man, but not before Van moved forward to give the MBD a random hit. She quick-stepped forward and struck with a high kick—hitting the left arm of the MBD. Consequently, the cannon-arm that shot electrostatic mesh. 

"Step aside, folks. Yourselves out of the way," said the madman with the static-capacitor cape, finally getting the wire mesh off of himself. "The Cloaked Man has to go to work." 

With the MBD's vast cannon moving to aim at his chest, the madman brought up the left end of his cape. And the road-turned battlefield lit up with bright flashes: field effect static burst. Several lightning-charged seconds of that bright electrical firing on the MBD. The Cloaked Man expended all his cape's stored charge in attacking that overly huge MBD. 

Blasted and taking damage, the MBD swayed ever so slightly, its mobility compromised. Damage cipher override. It stopped swaying and bent its hydraulic knees, then targeted The Cloaked Man. Targeting malfunction…. There was another bright blue flash: a miscalibrated shot as Van's attack had skewed the MBD's cannon targeting mechanisms. 

But the shot hit The Cloaked Man anyway, smacking him into a horrible half-spin from the shot. Heated gray smoke billowed when he fell to his knees—facing away from the MBD. Heck… He found he could not quite stand again, and the left side his chest felt as if being burned with Hell-fire: shoulder smoking with hot wire-mesh stuck to it. He began pulling at the mesh, but not before setting his cape to charging. 

Still in battle, Van was lucky to not have been hit at all so far. Because the MBD did not register her as a threat, even after she struck the fighting machine's electrostatic mesh cannon. Maybe that was because she did not quite fit the profile of a fighting machine herself: a robot in the shape of a casually dressed, pretty teenage girl. 

She sidestepped, moving to attack again. Eyes angry, she struck the thing's cannon again—further damaging the targeting mechanism. Combined with the damage done by The Cloaked Man, the MBD now had new troubles. Sparks came from the MBD's cannon and cooling vents, and the body quaked with troubles coming from damaged energy systems. Then the thing's "hands" closed up to conceal the weapons, and the entire structure stopped moving—smoke curling up from vents in its shoulders. 

They won! By now, The Cloaked Man managed to stagger-walk close by. His own shoulder still smoking a bit, he looked on at the MBD. Then… "What the heck? This is cheating!" he shouted. 

They won? No, this was not victory. The MBD was still active: smoke and all. That thing's massive body must have more than one energy system, because it began to stand on its thick machine pole legs. It approached The Cloaked Man, then swung its right pole-arm at him. 

He tried to sway backward and avoid the blow, but that only altered the way he fell from the glancing blow. A glancing blow from something with a construction machine's strength is still a very strong blow. Recovering, The Cloaked Man did manage to get to his knees again, but sparkles of intense pain clouded his perceptions, unconsciousness approaching. 

"That's beyond my tolerance!" he shouted, his eyes moving left and right, trying to look through the haze of pain. And then he managed to see the form of the massive metal monster. It was not a hard thing to see: twelve feet tall metal troll with gray smoke pouring from its boulder-thick shoulders. 

Cape just beginning to crackle, The Cloaked Man brought up both hands. Florescent blue lightning lashed between his hands. The MBD took the electrical bursts in the chest—fresh billows of smoke pouring from a new hole. Yet, it still stood. 

Some sounds began to come from it, too. Frightful machine sounds. It brought up its arms in turn, both hand-cases opening up again. Its weaponry had changed. This time, it had two cannons. Both cannons fired at once. 

And the scene around The Cloaked Man flashed with blue light, hot heat and gray smoke. When the smoke was clear enough to see through, The Cloaked Man was on his back. Some smoke came from his abdomen and chest. And he then snapped to his feet, a look crossing between pain and madness. Face obscured by the smoke coming up from his chest. He balled his fists, random streaks of electricity "I'm going to deconstruct you into forever!" 

Feet dragging a bit, he stepped onward and toward the MBD. Everyone seemed to stop, everyone and everything. The Cloaked Man brought up his cape, then let loose another barrage of field-effect lightning. 

After attacking, he brought down his cape and nearly fell over from damage and weakness. Though the MBD staggered from that attack, it still held its aim—began to charge up for another shot. 

Left Alia, positioned by the roadside, moved into action again-dashed into action by running with her body leaned forward, metal bootlets pattering along the asphalt. As she came closer, she outstretched her arms—things held in her hands. Things with sharpened ends, things that emitted electronic chitters only heard by the MBD. 

She leapt, a flying blur. Fists-first, she struck the MBD in the chest. A missile the size of a small being. And with fists and implements buried in the MBD's chest, she stuck there. 

There was an awful explosion. The explosion seemed to take over the entire day, filling the scene with heat and light that became white-hot. A blast that put everything in a vast white glare that blanked out all. Then everything seemed to fade into peaceful and quiet darkness… 

Van's "brain" was merely electronics and several crystals; her brain was not as vulnerable to the sheer blast. But physically, she was temporarily disabled. As she lie there, autorepair systems continued their work. She lie there, not being able to move. Not able to open her eyes. This was Van being trapped in her own body. 

And then, part of her own mind was closed off as processor resources went to undoing the impact damage to her insides. 

She felt as if she were being punished by Steve all over again. As if the big brutal pseudo-man had his remote, was using it to induce pain inside her. That was a way to think about this: She would try to relax and not let fear overtake her. 

Still later, she was still paralyzed as autorepair systems continued work. Would yet more time pass? Would her brain finally shut down as so she could pass into the peace and silence of eternity? Van knew that she didn't have a soul, a real spirit, any life force. If she "died," there would be no afterlife for her—no afterlife for robots. Van's thinking processes would cease, and that would be the end. 

No more blows to her body from people that hate her. No more fighting for her party. No more; no more anything. She was perfectly content to lie here and wait for whatever her body's autorepair systems did. 

"Wake up, already!" More of Van's thought processors freed up again for her conscious mind to use. "If I have to ask—a specifically certain way—for your waking task, then you too will flip into a state out of your mind." Van opened her eyes; she felt able again. She quickly brought herself to her feet, stood and looked around. There was still a twinge in her middle; some freshly autorepaired systems inside her were just recalibrating. And she did not want The Cloaked Man to rant too much. 

She saw The Cloaked Man, impatient and making those out-loud demand. He was kneeling off the side of the road, his caped back to Van. Over there, he was kneeling in front of Alia—who was still down. "Van, please get your synthetic self over here. By the roadside. I know you're up. And help me look on at Alia—whichever Alia this is," he said. 

Van complied, moving with her left hand on her bare abdomen. Bare? Just then, she realized that she was naked. The blast must have blasted away her clothes, leaving her body bare. Autorepair systems worked on bodies, not on anything worn over. 

"What's the hold-up? Alia needs... Never mind. She's waking up. Too late." The Cloaked Man stood up and turned to Van. He reached into his left pocket, cape crackling, and pulled out a long piece of beige. "Here, I apported some slacks for you." He handed that to Van. Then, there was more static crackling from his cape, and he pulled a long piece of white from his left pocket: a new blouse. ""And I apported a blouse, too. Want a bra and panties, too? Not that I'm a fan of female underthingies, but maybe you... Hey!" 

Van threw the clothes down onto the mountain's rocky roadside ground, also throwing aside modesty as she moved to kneel by Alia—who blinked up at the sky. Alia was still in a shell-shock daze. Not quite fully conscious. 

But The Cloaked Man was conscious of naked Van. All over, Van's lithe and smooth bare body was the color of pure cream. All that covered Van's smooth-pale back was her curtain of raven-dark hair. Why was The Cloaked Man noticing this now? 

The Cloaked Man shook his head, then asked, "Van, which Alia are we stuck with now: The one from the carnival, or the real original party member?" His eyes went to the wonderful swell of her hips. "And would you please wear something?" 

Alia sat up just then, hugging Van around the shoulders: metal child body to youthful synthetic body. Van hugged back. The Cloaked Man turned on the scene, overcome by the emotional mush of the moment. 

Alia released Van, stood a step back from the kneeling gynoid. "I yet live on as myself," she said. " What of my other self? The other gained at the carnival settlement?" 

"She's gone on," said The Cloaked Man, behind Van. He looked toward the road where the overpowered MBD exploded—there was now just a crater there. Sincerely, he said, "That Alia is in the breeze, really. And so is that MBD." An overpowered MBD, just as The Cloaked Man's own synthetic replacement body had over-powered energy systems. 

"Now, let's move on," said The Cloaked Man. "We're going to recover our nuke bikes from back along the road. They were only hit with electrostatic mesh—nothing too damaging. Things should be just dandy. 

"After that, we start up and keep moving. If any of us go down from any more random encounters, then..." He wanted to say, Then the rest of us keep going. Instead, 

"Then, the rest of us stay behind. And fight until the danger our ourselves are beaten." He took steps away from Alia and Van. "Let's move! And Van, clothe yourself." 

Van did. Alia looked at The Cloaked Man, sadness in her huge dark eyes. "What…? Oh, I get it. About the other Alia…" 

They first found the nuke bikes, which were scattered and on their sides from being crash-tossed. But as The Cloaked Man said, the nuke bikes were just dandy. Nuke bikes are extremely tough, tougher than the cyborgs or humanoid robots that ride them. 

Getting Alia's meaning, The Cloaked Man did something with the other Alia's nuke bike. He brought it over to the explosion crater, put it at the side of the road and laid it on its side--at the roadside of the crater where its rider died. And the three party members rode onward. 

They sped on, moving yet farther through the mountain road. The Cloaked Man still dared to ride ahead. Alia and Van had tried convincing him to ride back with them, but he insisted on leading. He founded this traveling party; he was going to lead it to the end—come Hell or high water. With the mountain air becoming ever-so-thinner, with the roadway becoming slightly rockier, he dared to speed. Speed being heated by annoyance at obstacles coming up at last moments in getting to the City. 

Yes, oh heck yes, thought The Cloaked Man with passing minutes—with the passing miles on their nuke bikes. That pulling whim, the whim that led them thus far, was becoming immense. It was a sensation that was all over the road ahead--feelings only he felt in approaching. 

He outstretched his right thumb—the ancient thumbs-up gesture. Looking from the back, the cape flapping so much, it seemed as if the arm extended from that cape. Or did the cape just seem bigger? 

Then, the mountain road flattened as the mountain surfaces at the sides of the road seemed to rise up. Actually, the riders descended into an artificial ravine cut into the mountain—cut to make way for the road and travelers. The ravine was reinforced by neat metal plating set in places. And then they were through the ravine and on the other side of the mountain range. A vast valley before them on the other side. 

The Cloaked Man held up his right hand—a gesture to slow down. He himself slowed down—as did his party members. This because they were nearing the end of the roadway, the roadway that led them to here. 

Moving again, this time slowly, the three motored beyond the ravine road and onto the two-way intersection that overlooked a valley within this mountain range—a valley surrounded by the mountains. Down there, spread out, was a suburb of homes and buildings among trees and grass. 

None of the squalor of Brunswick, or the rural bareness of the Woodsies' village. None of the shallow sparkling architecture of Fusion City. And, to the full satisfaction of The Cloaked Man, there were no stupid stripes on houses or big carnival tents. 

No, just a suburb down there. The Cloaked Man dismounted from his nuke bike and stood by the roadside bluff overlooking that normal-looking and tree-smattered suburb. He stood out and looked out over it: sunlight streaming high in the sky at a one o'clock position, shining down on the beautifully neat buildings and onto the green. A very faint foggy valley mist pervaded the scene, made it seem slightly vague—like in a dream. 

He took in a breath, turned to his party members. Arms outstretched, cape flapping, he said, "That place is what you think it is! The City of Slow Dreams!" Then he was on his bike again, to speed off. Alia and Van enthusiastically followed on their own vehicles. The City of Slow Dreams—where the Old Days live on… 

The road down from the mountain gently curved to the left and down. Going down was miles more relaxing and wonderful than going up. Likely so, because of there being relaxing green around the road. More roadside vegetation as the three rode deeper down and into this gentle land in the valley. 

The Cloaked Man alone felt most of the emotional impact. Yessiree, this was the place. There was so much brightness and wonder that pervaded the land here. Riding along an entrance road, a person could see the buildings and houses up ahead and in the area: neat structures that were well-kept. 

There were people walking along outside. Just ordinary people: not downtrodden and overworked Brunswick citizens, not the over-jacked flashy beautiful Fusion City people. Not scrub-rough Woodsies. And not clowns. Those people of Fusion City all looked human, humans dressed in Old-style clothes. 

Humans, they were all humans. They were coming from school or from jobs. Or, just walking for simple recreation. And this was all significant, especially... 

Nuke bike engines went quiet. All three party members had to stop and look around, looking along the sidewalk they parked near. Some passers-by actually waved at them. Friendly smiles, even. Newcomers were interesting to those people, especially since newcomers almost never made it into here. 

"Hey," said The Cloaked Man. "Let's go get ourselves some darned good coffee! If this is the City, then the coffee ought to be the darned best ever." He looked back at the other two party members, smirking. "And compounding the excuse to get the best darned coffee, we need excuse to talk to the townspeople. Now let's go; I got an indication that a diner should be nearby." 

Riding onward into the City, the three party members actually saw a diner at every fourth street corner. The Cloaked Man himself mentally shrugged at this, just picked a diner by whim. At this particular diner, there was a small parking lot at the side, some round-bodied and plain-colored automobiles outside. Red's was the name—a smallish red-brick diner with glass up front to see the well-lit insides. 

Something was wrong just then. There was a flickering change in The Cloaked Man's demeanor. With that came a different sort of feeling that emanated from the caped madman. 

The Cloaked Man put his right hand on the heavy door handle, and then Alia put her solid hand on his synth-flesh on—stopping him. "Wa-hey! What's up with you? Can't a Cloaked Man walk into a diner without being harassed by a little blonde cyborg elf? Want a smorgasborg of oatmeal or something, something or other? I'll pay, especially on the first day of conquest of the City of Slow Dreams… Whoops! I mean our first day of being citizens." 

Alia jerked back her hand, her immense eyes quite concerned. "What term used, Cloaked Man? Sincerely, I hope the words were not as heard. Conquest, that very word." While saying that, Alia had moved herself slightly closer to Van's side. 

The Cloaked Man looked up and down the tree-lined suburban street just outside this diner, big blue sky overhead. Then, looking down at the elfin blonde cyborg, he said, "I didn't say conquest. I said the first day of being guests of the City of Slow Dreams." He regarded Van. "Tell her, please? Why in tarnation would I want to conquer and rule Slow Dreams? It's not as if I planned this from the start. Not like I used you all along to follow my dream vision of rulership. Like…" 

He suddenly swiveled his head away from the two females by his side. He looked inside the diner; a youngish pretty waitress in white waved from in there. Wa-hey, that's excuse enough to break away from this conversation. Can't have his party dipping out on him… 

"Never mind this, gals. Let's go meet the townspeople. I'm sure we can tell 'em our story and be accepted." He opened the door and went in. 

Red's was very much like any diner anywhere in the lands nowadays. Its dining area made up the majority of the interior space, people inside. There were tables along the right side, some ordinary townspeople talking and eating. The left part of the inside was dominated by a high long-counter—stools there for people who wanted to eat quickly Behind that counter was the cook's area—a gray-haired small woman at work while younger taller women did serving. Odd, the gray hair seemed the only feature of age on her. 

The Cloaked Man sauntered up to a stool, leaned forward on the counter with his elbows propping him. A big stupid smile stretching across his lips. He turned himself around on the stool, looked back at his two party members by the front entrance, a look on his face that said, Are you two coming? 

Alia and Van, quite close together, approached the smiling, cape-sporting madman. They sat on the tall gray-cushioned stools to his right. Their eyes flickered to him, then at the gray-haired small woman who cooked over there, behind this counter. That small outfitted-and-aproned woman looked left, away from the grill. Smiling and saying to the three, "You must be new in town!" She then turned down the grill and moved over to the counter—coming closer and wiping small smooth hands on her apron. "Welcome, welcome!" 

Other people's heads turned. The men and women along the right-side tables looked over at those three newcomers on stools. And those townspeople at the tables were suddenly very interested: Hey, newcomers are here! Travelers in from the plains! 

All three travelers pivoted around on their stools, facing out toward the group of people that built. Small crowd of people: seven regulars, plus the two waitresses and the cook. This was a nice little audience to listen to those travelers. 

There was that one in the cape, biggest and most flamboyant young man. He was dressed normally: wore slacks and tee shirt, black shoes to go with it. His dark curly hair was a bit wild, though. So was the cape… Was that static electricity crackling? 

The second tallest was a teenage girl—wearing a nice-fitting blouse and slacks over her thinnish body. A pretty face to go with her pretty figure. Dark hair and slightly slanting dark eyes over her exotically high cheekbones—odd, but pretty. Pale, smooth skin. Maybe, her skin was a bit too smooth and perfect, if you looked at her too long. She smiled. 

But the darling of that group was the little one. Oh, she looked the most interesting. Four feet tall, she was, with a small round head topped with the palest silk-blonde hair. Her hair was combed straight back and behind her pointed ears—her other facial features just as sharp, except for her eyes. Big beautiful dark eyes that seemed to drink in light. From the neck down, her slender body was metal. Was she…? 

An elfin cyborg, metal-type! Elves were thought generally wiped out from the War! That, and all metal-type cyborgs were thought eliminated. That made the smallest one of that party the most precious. That she was so pert and pretty also helped add to her appeal. But one knows that it's not nice to crowd elves, though; history books said that elves were sensitive and delicate people—real-bodied or cyborg. 

"Howdy-do, people!" said the big one, smiling a weird kind of smile. "Reckon you people are probably leaning to curiosity about us. And I reckon you want to hear, right here, on why the heck we're here." He leaned forward on his stool, hands on knees for balance. "Want to listen?" 

Well, he sounded friendly enough. People should gather around, listen to the man here. And maybe that little darling elfin cyborg will talk, too. 

"Well now… We're not going to talk about Judy. In fact, we're not going to talk about Judy at all! We're gonna keep…" The elfin cyborg was looking at him; he noticed. What, were those lines borrowed from an ancient movie? "Harumph! Never mind that. Let me move in on what we're about. 

"I'm The Cloaked Man," he said, his left thumb to his chest. He then jerked the thumb left, indicating someone else. "In order of tallness… The dark-haired one here is Van—Japanese gynoid girl-thing. And that elfin cyborg is Alia. Ain't she cute? We've temporarily been travelers. People wanting to move in on you. 

"I first went to Brunswick, see. A big tired city pretty far from here—in the south. Went there and tried to live a decent sort of life. I made some money as free-thinking sort of person, made myself a few invincibly useful devices because of random ideas that came into my head. 

"Then I had a sort of dream-vision, you know? It was this sort of deep and 

slow-misted dream where I was at a game table. I was just sitting there, and a gynoid—a girl that's really a robot inside—dealt me a hand of three cards: a card with an elfin cyborg, another card with the gynoid on it, and a third card with a weird shadowy outline. 

"I had a real indication that the card was supposed to be me. And with all the sense dreams give you—which ain't much—I knew that I had to find those characters and move on to the City of Slow Dreams." He put his left hand on Van's left shoulder. "We are now here. Here we now are. Hear that we are here, just like the dream said we would be…" Curious eyes looked on. "Yeah, that'll be all I want to say out loud—for now. Alia, Van, you two want to any speak-saying?" 

Van shook her head, conscious of all the human people looking at her. Humans. The gynoid always had deference to human beings. That deference now leading to shyness before all that stood around her. They stared at her, looking into her—looking beyond her pretty exterior and seeing the crystal-matrix processors that held her mind. A hard blink. "N-no… No, I don't want to…say anything." She took sudden interest at the floor. Feeling all of those human eyes still looking into her. 

Alia, on Van's left and furthers from The Cloaked Man, looked from townsperson to townsperson—looking into eyes with her dark ones to meet their stares. "If I say anything," she began, "it would pertain somewhat to the journey taken. A dream-and-vision journey, one guided by emotion. Such is truth in twin ways. 

"One way, emotion guided us here. Whim and desire making for pulling across the land. En route, The Cloaked Man told of how whim and feeling made for direction. Direction given, we came. 

"Emotion posed as morale, the other way. We passed through random dangers and over the land to come here. Development of some troubles, inevitability. But through troubles, we came to this place. 

"This place, this beautiful place, is what some travelers of Brunswick spoke often about. So beautiful; so beautiful. I deeply believe it shall be beautiful to exist here." She looked into eyes of townspeople. "I so want it to be beautiful to live here. Just to be among you peaceful people—a life of fitting cooperation." 

The Cloaked Man grimaced. He snappingly stood up and away from his stool. A grimacing look of disgust and annoyance. "Alia, you peace-ridden freak! What the Hell? That has to be so damned corny." He pointed with his left, pointed at Alia. "You are a little freaky metal-bodied elf-girl, too weird." He pointed at Van. "You are even more oppy, you oppy sort of fake girl. All opped up. And I guess you'll have to check your history data on what that means." He began pointing at the townspeople in this diner. "You are corny. And you. And you. You, you, and you, too. You, you, and don't forget to remember you." A breeze blew in here; people suddenly became filled with fright. 

The inside of this diner…changed. Changed intangibly, like the way Coach's viewing office changed when The Cloaked Man did something to the local fabric of reality. Though this diner was lit inside with florescent lighting from within and lighting from the outside window, some light was actually being drained. Intangible dimness, like a kind of cold mist, make the room seem shadow tinged. 

And outside, the wind began to really blow. It ble-e-ew along the quiet streets. Blew and howled across houses and across building-tops. The wind blowing over all the land: a troubling breeze… 

"Aah, hah, hah, hah, ha-a-a-h! Aah, hah, hah…" laughed The Cloaked Man. And the immense laughter exploded in here. An actual explosion of pressure. 

The window-front cracked, then burst outward, sending glass spraying into the sidewalk and made the humans' ears bleed. Many fell to the floor in shock. Some began crawling and weeping. All humans with wet warm blood sliding down the sides of their necks. "Aah, hah, hah, hah, hah… Aah, hah, hah…" 

In the darkening diner, The Cloaked Man turned to Alia and Van, and he stopped laughing… His red cape flapped strongly. "Hey there, party people!" he also shouted in the troubled diner, shouted above the wind and in the gloom. "Let's go take over the City's Town Hall! This is a city of almost all humans, and the few cyborgs of this place are weak! No one can stop the party that our party will start. No-fucking-body!" 

Though wind whipped at their hair, Alia and Van met The Cloaked Man's laid-back confidence look—stared back hardened looks of their own. Alia dropped down from her stool, stood her full four feet. Van brought her feet down to the ground, legs and body moving with deliberation. Both were just three yards from the caped madman, no one bent by the wind, even when standing. 

Alia raised her right hand, metal finger pointing, her hair whipped to the side by the fierce breeze in here. Shouting louder than the wind, "You betrayer! Traitorous and darkened! You are to be stopped by those once your allies!" 

Van closed her hands into fists. Her smooth face bent in anger. Shouting above the fast-moving breeze. "I bet that was your plan all along, wasn't it? You wanted to come here and take over a town of your own! Like that guy Coach!" Van then took a step closer to Alia, the gynoid's steps slightly unsteady in the fierce air currents. 

The Cloaked Man put his hands to his chest. "Hey-y-y, I'm the traitor? What the heck? You two are turning traitor at me! I founded our party. I set the orders. It's my party. Now…" He gestured at the door. "Let's go boogie up to Town Hall and kick some human ass." 

"I say no to that! And you are to be stopped!" shouted the elfin cyborg. "Stopping you must be done. Must be done; will be done!" She gave a look to the human-sized gynoid—who nodded. Then Alia looked back at the taller Cloaked Man. "Done by the both of us…" 

"Okey-dokey! You want some of me?" shouted The Cloaked Man, pointing at the elfin cyborg and the gynoid by using both hands. "Okay, you got it! Aah, hah, hah, hah! I'll kick your skinny synthetic ass, Van. Then I'll kick your elfin titanium ass, Alia. Aah, hah, hah… 

"Let's take this outside!" The Cloaked Man brought his cape before himself, there was a stronger blast of wind, and then…the wind stopped. Light went back to normal, though the ruined diner—nor its customers—would be "normal" again. That madman was gone. 

Alia moved to the left of the diner, where some humans had fainted from the shock and noise, the blood from their ears still dripping. More conscious than ever of her hands being metal and machine-strong, she ever-so-carefully tried to gently touch their backs and abdomens—depending on how they fell—to determine if they breathed, lived. Trying to help… 

No, several of them were dead. The rest were probably dying because of whatever The Cloaked Man did to this room's environment. These were the humans who tried to escape the diner. That odd, light-draining radiation and wind of his, it was something that sickened and killed people. And that something of his would do more as The Cloaked Man did more. 

"Yo! Cyber-bitch duo!" came The Cloaked Man's shout. Van saw him out there, in the middle of the daylit street before the diner. Saw him through the broken window, him waving both tanned sinewy arms. "I'm out here!" But now, though, his arms seemed thicker, his chest stronger. The Cloaked Man seemed stronger, even seen from this distance. 

Alia stood up and took steps away from the fallen humans in here. Their bodies were growing colder as they were all dead from The Cloaked Man's distortion of the local environment. Vengeance is the ultimate prize of now, thought the elfin cyborg. Her eyes darkened. Yes, the vampiric hunger for vengeance clutched her soul. 

She clenched her machine-hard fists, her emotional state so deepened that her electromechanical body's energy systems reacted. Heat came from within the small cyborg, a heat of anger larger than herself. A quick turn, a flash of her pale hair, and she was at the door. Van followed Alia to this final battle. 

The Cloaked Man stood on the street, his arms crossed across his slightly more muscular chest. His slacks less slack now; his legs were thicker. Now, the once sinewy build was a medium build. 

The rugged face of his smirked, and there was a breeze. That caused the cape to flared and flap out from his tee-shirted back like a bigger red banner of war—bigger cape, too. Indeed, that as certainly a stronger being than the one who managed the party. 

Now, the two other party members stood down the street, fifteen yards away, stood against him. "You guys are, like, so dead!" he shouted along this suburban street. A light breeze punctuating his remark. "I'll have to put you both in the breeze!" Still standing strong, the two said nothing. The Cloaked Man raised his fists, which seemed bigger—knuckles somehow callous-scarred. "En guarde!" And the largest battle of the party—the final battle—began. 

The Cloaked Man made the first preliminary moves. He knelt on his left knee, slacks and tee shirt straining across his awful new musculature. His more-volumous cape flapped, crackled with building static electrical energy. And he eyed Van with intense hatred. Seconds passed, and his cape's electrical potential began building—crackling sounds of intense energy. 

Alia threw herself forward in a quick dash—leaning forward and running with her right fist cocked. She came at The Cloaked Man. In the final three yards' distance toward him, Alia slid-scraped along the street on her titanium bootlets—as if skating without wheels. At the end of the powered slide, she struck. Two machine-quick punches against the kneeling Cloaked Man's chest. She did a low-flying and low-powered backward leap to return to her original position, while The Cloaked Man fell backward. 

He stopped his backward fall with both hands down and back. "You make me so mad!" he rumbled, voice dangerous. A grunt, and he was on his feet again. And his cape still crackled. 

As did now his fists. He took a single stride, was then airborne in a low-flying leap—suddenly very close. He lashed his right fist down on Alia, and she struck the ground. Before Van could immediately counter, The Cloaked Man did as Alia did earlier—a backward leap to get away and back to his original position. But his leap was slightly slower—more graceful. As if he temporarily defied laws of normalcy and gravity. 

Alia raised herself to a kneeling position, her left hand at the center of her slim metal chest—weakened. And it was somewhat harder to breathe. But she had to breathe… When The Cloaked Man smirked, Van moved: a girl-colored blur of speed that moved and struck The Cloaked Man in his abdomen. Van then ran back to be by Alia, who was now on her feet again. 

"I'm gonna mess you two up so bad!" shouted The Cloaked Man, holding his left side—but still standing. His cape crackled as if on fire. "I'll make it as so even archeologists won't even recognize what's left of you!" Before Alia or Van could move again, he brought forth his cape with his left hand, his right hand with knuckles pointing in their general direction. And the day seemed to explode. 

The asphalt around Alia and Van was pock-marked with black blots from where The Cloaked Man's field-effect spray of lightning overshot their targets. Alia and Van, themselves were on their backs. 

Alia snapped to stand again—perhaps a bit too quickly. Her brain felt odd, and she felt slightly tired. Controlling her body as so not to stagger, she refused to show weakness to The Cloaked Man. 

Van struggled to stand, only managed to get into a kneeling position. She looked at Alia, the elfin cyborg standing to her right With a static-troubled whisper-voice, Van spoke last words to her friend. "Please stop him…" 

Then, the gynoid fell face-forward—no longer able to fight, her body grotesquely sprawled on the street, night-dark hair blanketing her back and face. And so, the gynoid was defeated. 

"Two bitches minus one bitch equals one bitch!" shouted the moderately muscular Cloaked Man, slapping his left knee. "Ye-e-e-e-haw! Ain't that a bitchy bitch of a stupid sinking situation you're in! A real knee-slapper." He grinned at her. "Time to put you to bed—with permanence." 

Alia ran forward again, armored bootlets pattering along the asphalt. She skid-stopped before The Cloaked Man, skidding as before. This time, she slid as so the spray of sparks went up from her feet and toward The Cloaked Man. That temporarily distracted him, making him squint against the sparks. 

She attacked: A left-right punch combination at his midsection, then a kick. Alia's attacks sent The Cloaked Man staggering. With that madman stagger-distracted, Alia side-dashed to be at the curb—trying to get a new fighting angle. 

"Trying to move in on me, eh?" he said, recovering his balance. The instant he did, the muscled madman with the cape dashed at Alia—now by the curb. 

Then his left fist arced downward, exploding with sparks—smacking Alia down hard. Gasping and grounded, Alia quickly stood again—nervously and shakingly staggered away. Stagger-ran to be by her fallen friend. And there the elfin cyborg knelt with hands to her now-cracked titanium chest. Her large eyes larger with worry, she looked at The Cloaked Man. 

As she knelt and looked on at the traitor, three drops sprinkled the street. Then more drops from Alia. Dark red drops of Alia's own blood. For the first time in almost a century, the elfin cyborg bled. She began to feel light-headed, her body's blood supply steadily dripping from the crack between the slight feminine shapes on her chest. 

"Heh, heh, heh, heh…" The Cloaked Man chuckled, and he began walking toward where Van lay broken and Alia knelt in critical injury. "Heh, heh, heh, heh…" She tried to stand up, but found it hard to control her body. The Cloaked Man's cape flapped behind him as his thick-soled black shoes stepped…stepped. And Alia had to kneel again, just to keep from falling over. The Cloaked Man was finally here. Then he bent over and gripped her metal neck. Using her neck as a handle, he hefted her—her metal bootlets five feet from the ground. 

With Van broken and Alia too weak to fight anymore, the battle was over. The party of three was finally broken, disbanded by defeat. Defeated by mutual betrayal. Now, she was being gripped by the neck, about to die. 

The madman's left thumb was over the metal-ringed tube that was Alia's windpipe. Even more so now, the elfin cyborg in his grip looked pitifully small. She weakly struggled with his grip, also struggled to keep her eyes open, as her blood supply leaked from her chest. 

"Remember this, Alia?" he asked, teeth clenched as he gripped Alia's neck. "Huh, do you? Do you, huh?" Her eyelids nearly closed, so he gave her a jerk to try and keep her awake and alive enough to hear him out. Grip on her neck tightening a bit, crimping her throat, he said, "This was the way things were until that jacked-up jackass of an explosion—probably from the prisoner—blew everything up. Remember Alia? Remember?" He shook her twice. "Of course you don't remember. Your memory has been long-fucked by your auto-stasis. 

"But my brain wasn't! I remember it all. I remember how you brought up some Geneva crap when I was interrogating that prisoner. Geneva, that ancient lore about treating prisoners of war with respect and all that. Say you remember, Alia!" His thumb tightened, windpipe closing. "What's my name, girl?" 

Now, Alia felt the peace of darkness closing in. She was scared before; scared and hurt. That was fright because everything seemed to be very steeped in trouble. But now that she knew that she and her friend were lost, she did not worry anymore. Now, Alia just wanted to sleep for a very long time. Not wake up again… But bleeding to death took such a long time for a cyborg. 

The thumb on her throat closed yet further. Her end would be hastened when her air was cut off. Was being cut off now. Just before darkness and peace closed over her, she managed to speak. "I give you thank…Elio." And then her eyes closed. 

The Cloaked Man—Elio—smiled at the dying elfin cyborg. "Oh yeah! Say it! My name is Elio!" he shouted into her peaceful face, shaking her by the neck—her body limply and grotesquely swaying. "My fake name—The Cloaked Man—was a freakingly obvious cover. Damned double-decked dumb-head, didn't you get it?" 

He was now just talking to a titanium-bodied corpse: Alia was dead. The blood supply within her body was now a puddle of deep rich red on the asphalt at his feet. Dead. 

"Wait a dog-gone minute…" he exclaimed aloud. Thank me?" he shouted. "Thank…me?" He shook the small body—body inert as a metal doll. That was what it was just now: a blonde-haired metal doll the size of a little girl. The elf-girl brain within it dead and cooling. "Thank ME?" He lifted the limp metal form, his cape crackling. A horrible whoosh as he slammed the little metal form so hard that there were cracks in the street where it struck. 

Now, Alia's diminutive body was beside Van's. Both bodies with limbs sprawled, both face-down and with hair splayed. The Cloaked Man regarded them both, smirking at them. Thinking on them. 

Those two put up a pretty damned good fight. Not as good as damned good coffee, but a pretty decent fight anyway. And they would have been his left and right hands of rulership, too. It would have been so cool: Alia serving as his light-and-nimble personal messenger to the townspeople, his right hand; Van as his personal enforcer. Like oatmeal and darned good coffee. 

Not that he needed help, or oatmeal. But darned good coffee is always nice. Thinking so, The Cloaked Man turned, his left foot pivoting. In his mind, he had vague ideas about oatmeal and damned good coffee. Hmm… Damned good coffee… Where in tarnation could I get some? Coffee… Coffee… Oatmeal and brain grits, gore galore! Heh, heh, heh… 

But, The Cloaked Man—revealed to be Elio—did not at all get far when he felt something not quite right. He was a block away from the ruined diner and the scene of the corpses when he stopped walking. Just stood there like a stupid fool while things happened behind his back. 

There was a blast of wind, and the sky began to crackle with lightning. And then the wind blasted across the mountains that surrounded this little city. The wind, it then blasted across the scene and whipped The Cloaked Man's cape. Yet, he did not turn around—even as the light of day was being darkened by clouds. 

Something happened to the broken robot-girl as well. There was a hidden reserve of nanobots within Van's chest—and that supply of nanobots made most of Van's body melt into a little pool of raw material. The microfusion battery in the puddle flared, and the puddle became a ball of controlled energy. Still, The Cloaked Man did not turn around. 

The ball of ghostly energy, what had once been Van, had floated up—settled onto the metal-bodied elf's body. Then, the body was surrounded in energy. Lightning crackled and snapped. Krr-krack-boom! Bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, hitting the ball of energy and what was inside. And The Cloaked Man still refused to turn around. 

If he did turn around, he would have seen the final result. He would have seen the ball of energy lift up and reveal a petite, dark-haired and metal-bodied being with a different face. A fully repaired cyborg-girl. Very dark hair, even darker eyes. And her metal body looked more feminine. The ball of energy hovered over her head. It came down and shrunk, squeezed itself. The reformed being opened her right hand, and the ball of compressed energy closed—forming a suddenly cool blade. More exactly, the Damascus Blade of millennia ago. 

"Cloaked Man!" shouted the reformed female cyborg, shouting down the street. Because down the street, The Cloaked Man still stood. She shouted, "You have killed again! For that, I bring your end!" She saw The Cloaked Man turn around—a big smile on his face. 

"Why, Gally! Didn't I have done kill you dead? Then again, you done killed me and my girlfriend! Damn, I tried coming back as a human, tried coming back as a robot, and now I come back as a synthetic-bodied cyborg. Damn it, can't a demon like me just get on with darkening this stupid dirt ball of a planety?" Then he leapt and stood five yards in front of the reincarnated cyborg. He raised his fists, and the battle started—a battle beneath a cloud-boiling sky of lightning and chaos. 

So the battle for The City of Slow Dreams began yet again. The Cloaked Man stood with his fists up and clenched. The newly revealed Gally stood with her Damascus blade in her right hand—a blade not seen for millennia. The Cloaked Man: a warrior not of this reality. Gally, a warrior not of this time. 

The Cloaked Man snatched at his cape, holding onto a corner and bringing it up like a shield. "Yargh… Argh!" he shouted. Lightning flickered out from the material. And the bright bolts of unholy lightning pattered and jolted into Gally's chest. Gally staggered, taking the blows to her petite metal form. 

But she stood strong. She righted herself, then did a small leap backward. Using the strength of her electromechanical legs and back, she snapped forward again, and she slashed. Slashed so quickly that the blade seemed like an arc of pure light as she flew past. She landed, stood again. 

The Cloaked Man frowned. He looked down at his chest. It looked fine—until a splash of dark blood gushed from the cut over his currently synthetic heart. The cut was not into his heart. Damn it, he thought, if this body dies, I'm gonna have a Hell of a time getting back from the Other Side. 

He turned, his cape swirling. Dark, night-colored artificial blood poured down the left side of his chest, and his left arm was no longer working. "You freaky little thing! Don't you know what I did to get back into reality?" He said that, then he extended his right arm toward Gally. A bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, knocking Gally backward. 

She stood again, her short-cut dark hair standing slightly out with the static charge from the lightning blast. "It cost you yet another incarnation, Cloaked Man," said Gally. She ran forward with her blade raised, ran forward just as The Cloaked Man used his cape to shield himself—lightning flaring up madly… 

Gally was forced to stop with the onslaught of lightning blasts…. She stopped, knelt as all of that fierce lightning from The Cloaked Man pattered into her body. So much lightning shattered against Gally that even the asphalt was heating. The air was becoming oven-hot. Everything seemed to be in a strobe lighting… Then The Cloaked Man stopped. 

Heavily breathing, with smoke coming from his mouth, he spoke to the cyborg that now knelt before him. "There you go, damned angel! I got you go-o-o-od! In your face!" Then Gally looked up. 

Her eyes were a pure blaze of white. The wind began to fiercely blow, blowing her dark hair—wind buffeting her body. She spoke, and her voice seemed to come from all around. "This is your end, Cloaked Man! I insist!" Then, Gally gave the final attack. 

She stood, and all of that stored electrical charge—stored unholy lightning from The Cloaked Man's attacks—charged Gally's body. She raised her Damascus blade to the sky, lightning struck it several times. When she slashed down, the entire scene became covered in white light and heavenly warmth… 

When the light faded, Gally's blade was in The Cloaked Man's belly. The Cloaked Man's face held a frown, then the face split down the middle. The split traveled downward and down to Gally's blade. Apparently, Gally had cut The Cloaked Man from head to gut. So she pulled back her blade. 

The Cloaked Man's half-divided body sank to knees, making awful burbling sounds as blood went down and everywhere. Then the body fell belly-down, the divided cape covering. The body blackened, charred. Another wind came, and blew off parts of the blackened mound—which had turned to dark dust before being blown into the breeze. 

Gally gently closed her eyes. Her right hand unclenched, and the blade dropped. But, there was no sound of it hitting the street; it disappeared before it hit the ground. And then Gally's face was gone, back to the elfin face of Alia. There was a song in the breeze as Alia fell backward, and her body faded from reality. But, just before Alia's body faded, there was a smile on the lips. 

The humans and synthetic-bodied beings of this city—the City of Slow Dreams—would probably never know what changes would have come to their lives had an angel not come. Instead, they came out of homes and buildings, out of pubs and libraries, came out of everywhere. The people looked up at the sky, the clouds slowly going over this gentle place surrounded by mountains. All of the land was covered with a slow blue sky… 

--END OF PART I--- 

(Note: Scroll down for a note from the author…)   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


--Author's Afterword to CITY OF SLOW DREAMS— 

_____I suppose there are plenty of people out there who are going to hate me   
for saying this, but this has to be said anyway... Firstly, there is more   
than one way to write a fanfiction: straight from the original stories   
(novels, movies, etcetera) or with creative embellishments. A writer could   
take most all the details of the original stories and make an EXACT fanfiction   
based EXACTLY on the original works. OR, a writer could take some liberties   
and make fanfiction "based on" the original stories. Do you hate me yet?   
_____Now, fortunately or unfortunately, I have taken the secondary route:   
Clearly, the online novel CITY OF SLOW DREAMS is not a "straight up" and   
"exact" fanfiction of Yukito Kishiro's wonderful GUNNM/BATTLE ANGEL manga   
series. With the previous online novels I did for GUNNM/BATTLE ANGEL and   
SMALL WONDER, I wanted to add and change details. I wanted to do so much in   
writing them, but there were constraints. I did not want to deviate TOO FAR   
from the original series. However, some of the crazy stuff this amateur   
novelist wanted to do in CROSSOVER and THE DARKENING had to come out. So, I   
took the more loose approach to writing the third novel of the CROSSOVER   
series.   
_____Before people break out the M-16 assault rifles and the katanas to wipe   
me out, please (Oh, please!) note that I'm not the only one who does this sort   
of thing. When professional writers' novels are made into movies or video   
games (PARASITE EVE, anyone?), the script-writers or programmers take   
liberties with plotlines, characters, etcetera. When stories go from   
one format to another, sometimes things are changed; sometimes things are   
just changed for the format's sake. In short, things are mutated. Hey, it's   
for the sake of art...   
_____Let me put examples on the desk. Of particular note, note the   
differences between the first book of the GUNNM series and the OAV made from   
it. Also, note the differences between the video game series SUPER MARIO   
BROS. and the American fantasy movie made from it (also titled SUPER MARIO   
BROS.) during the late 1900s--BIG differences. At least, when some of GUNNM made   
the transition from manga to OAV, it was recognizable; about the only similarities   
between the game SUPER MARIO BROS and the movie SUPER MARIO BROS. were the   
titles and the character profiles. Though the makers of the movie SUPER MARIO   
BROS. absolutely mutated the settings, characters and ideas when they made   
it into a movie, the movie was entertaining. In making CITY OF SLOW DREAMS,   
I just wanted the work to be entertaining--even if I did mutate the themes,   
motifs, etcera from GUNNM.   
_____How much mutation are we talking here? Well, I set CITY OF SLOW DREAMS   
some centuries AFTER the manga. (Yes, the War happened with the civilization   
made after the anti-Salem revolution: War is an inevitability of the   
human condition.) And the protagonist character Alia is a mix between Gally/Alita,   
a background character from RECORD OF LODOSS WAR, and a character from my   
own home-made science fiction novels. Further, there are plenty of elements I   
tossed in from an unpublished series of American sci-fi novels. Where else   
did TCM and Thunderhorse come from? They're not from SMALL WONDER, not from   
GUNNM/BATTLE ANGEL! Yes, yes... There was plenty of mutation between   
Kishiro's works and the third fanfiction novel I made from that source. 

_____Before I leave you to torture and try to kill my alter-ego, let me finish off   
with this: IT'S FOR FUN! I am an amateur novelist--perhaps to go professional   
in five years or so--because writing novels is FUN. And, reading novels   
should be for entertainment. Especially, I write fanfiction practice novels   
(like the online ones) because writing them is fun--especially when there are   
plenty of TWIN PEAKS songs to listen to. If people read fanfiction novels   
just to have an excuse to beat up amateur writers, then that is not fun. If   
people are forced to write fanfiction based EXACTLY on what is from the   
original stories, then that could be less fun. I mutated and made CITY OF   
SLOW DREAMS for entertainment purposes only--not for accuracy. Now, I'm   
working on a little something else--for a different type of series   
altogether. Should be done with it some time early next year. I'll see you   
folks later, hopefully. Or see you in the breeze.   
_____Just maybe, there are some curious folks who would want to read Part II.   
So, for the curious, if you really want to see Part II, visit my website:   
http://eliotbauers.tripod.com . But, be warned it reads more   
LODOSS WAR than GUNNM…!) Just scroll down; the chapters should be   
there. If not, you know how to contact this joker... And remember, it is all   
for entertainment...   


--Elliot Bowers 


End file.
